


Beta Reading Samples

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Other - Freeform, Research Article
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2004-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:50:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This article provides several examples of how authors and beta readers can work together.</p><p>Originally compiled by Tanaqui, with assistance from Gwynnyd and Marta. This version: May 2004.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

This article provides several examples of how authors and beta readers can work together. There are undoubtedly many approaches to the process. Authors can find all of these methods valuable and may use different methods with different beta readers. There is certainly no “right” or “wrong” way to provide beta — you should find an approach that gives you the help you feel you need as an author and which involves the level of commitment you are comfortable with as a reader.

**Brief comments in a HASA forum or by e-mail**

Authors generally love receiving comments on their stories at HASA. As well as praising the parts of the story the reader liked, readers sometimes also leave suggestions for changes. (For example, Regina quite correctly pointed out to me in a forum thread that the Rohirrim in one of my stories would probably not refer to Éowyn as “The White Lady” but as “Lady Éowyn”, and I went and changed it in the story.) Author and reader may debate the feedback further, but the comments are typically restricted to just one or two points and the debate is brief. The beta relationship does not extend beyond that story.

**Working through the HASA forums to resolve particular issues**

Some authors use the HASA forums to get more detailed feedback over the longer term with a semi-regular group of readers. One great example of working with reviewers is Shadow975. See the [ discussion of Chapter19](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/forums/messages.cfm?confId=6&forumId=118&messageId=11020) of her story “An End to Innocence”. Her [thread in the same discussion on Chapter 16](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/forums/messages.cfm?confId=6&forumId=118&messageId=5858) is a good example of something not working right for an author and the author using forum comments to define and fix the problem. It is a lesson on how to get the most out of people who are willing to comment.

**Working through HASA Workshops**

Early in 2005, HASA launched a new section, called [Workshop](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/workshop/index.cfm), specifically to support beta-reading. Workshop allows you to:

  * Make general, beta or even off-list stories available to a limited group of members, away from the gaze of the general membership  

  * Make comments directly onto copies (or "clones") of chapters, using a WYSIWYG editor   

  * Discuss stories through dedicated and private forums



Workshop is particularly useful for groups of writers who regularly work together, or for writers who want detailed feedback on very early drafts from trusted beta-readers.

**A grammar, spelling and canon beta**

Gwynnyd kindly wrote a short vignette with many, many errors to allow us to demonstrate how a strict grammar, spelling and canon beta would tackle this piece. This can be found in Chapter 2. (My thanks to Gwynnyd — this is most definitely not representative of her usual fine abilities with words!) This type of beta would typically be provided through e-mail or Workshop.

**A plot, characterisation, continuity and style beta — short comments**

Chapter 3 shows how a beta reader might provide fairly high-level comments by e-mail or through a forum on the same piece (with the grammatical errors corrected). Here, the beta reader points out general issues about plot, characterisation, continuity and style, without delving into many specific passages.

**The beta circle — full beta**

Chapters 4 to 8 demonstrate how a beta circle can work together in a workshop, by showing how a short story by Marta (“How Many Years?”) evolved in response to beta comments made by two members of her beta circle, Gwynnyd and Tanaqui. There is a fourth member of the beta circle, Lady Aranel, who for real-life reasons was not able to participate in this particular beta process. However, the four members are normally all working on stories simultaneously and all providing beta comment on most drafts.

Chapter 4 explains how the beta circle came into existence in the first place, while chapters 5 to 8 show how the piece developed through four drafts. Beta comments here covered every issue from identifying a canon error that required some fairly serious re-jigging of the piece through style suggestions to nitpicking on grammar. The betas generally suggested fixes for issues, sometimes redrafting sentences or even whole paragraphs as the easiest way to explain what they felt was wrong. (These chapters are quite heavy reading, but we hope studying them will provide useful insights.)

This is how we do beta in our beta circle; other people may (and undoubtedly do) work in different ways. In addition, by the time Marta wrote this piece, we had worked together intensively for several months on a number of stories and were very comfortable with each other. This allowed us to be fairly direct in our suggestions, confident that the others (especially the author) would not be offended and that the author would feel free to reject them if she didn’t like them. When working with someone we had not previously beta’ed for — and in the early days of our group when we were still establishing if we could work together — we would all probably take more time and care to express ourselves and explain our suggestions.

(Author’s note from Tanaqui: many thanks to Marta and Gwynnyd for allowing me to use this glimpse into the workings of our beta circle, and to Lady Aranel, Marta and Gwynnyd for allowing me to share the strange process through which we forged our friendship.)


	2. Version 1 of How Many Years?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This article provides several examples of how authors and beta readers can work together.

First draft posted by Marta. Comments by Gwynnyd. _Tanaqui_ unable (for real-life reasons) to comment on first draft.

Marta’s comments are in red **.  
** Gwynnyd’s comments are blue.  
(see how much easier Workshop's WYSIWYG editor makes commenting? these were originally underlined and/or bold.)  
*******

"How Many Years?"  
by Marta  
11 March 2004

"They made a level space, and at its eastward end they raised a mound; within the mound Isildur laid a casket that he bore with him. Then he said: 'This is a tomb and memorial to the Kingdom of the South in the keeping of the Valar, while the Kingdom endures; and this place shall be a hallow that none shall profane. Let no man disturb its silence and peace, unless he be an heir of Elendil."

"If then Mardil had exercised the authority of the King in his absence, the heirs of Mardil who had inherited the Stewardship had the same right and duty until a King returned; each steward therefore had the right to visit the hallow when he would and to admit to it those who came with him… Nonetheless, the Stewards, partly from awe, and partly from the cares of the kingdom, went very seldom to the hallow on the Hill of Anwar, except when they took their heir to the hill-top, according to the custom of the Kings."

\-- "The Tradition of Isildur," Pt IV of "Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan," JRR Tolkien's Unfinished Tales

***

Undergrowth covered the path now. I did not remember it being this overgrown when I last travelled it with my own father over fifty years ago. (You might want to switch the order and/or make it two sentences: I last travelled this path with my father over fifty years ago. It was not this overgrown in my memories.) Saplings now grew in the middle of the trail, not just along the edges as they had of old. You could hardly call it a path, but the sons of Húrin walked it nonetheless. Each man of my house travelled it twice, once with his father and once with his son. He hoped he would never have cause to walk it a third time. (Why? Because it would mean Boromir was dead and he’d have to walk it with Faramir? Thinking fondly of Boromir, he hoped…) It was well I knew the path so well, (how? if he’d only walked it once before? Was it burned into his memory? If so you should say that. It was well I remembered the path so clearly) or I should be cheated of my second hike as well. (as well? Was he cheated of his first hike?) (this would be a good place to mention that Denethor is carrying the Horn of Gondor.)(back?)

"Boromir," I called, turning to face him (as he lagged behind?) . His head snapped around to face me then, but not quickly enough for him to hide the furtive look back toward Minas Tirith. "They will still celebrate when you return," I assured him, "and they will sing all the louder for your arrival. But now I need you here." (Does Boromir **know** why they are going up the mountain? Maybe You know you are needed here.)

"The boy tries hard," Imrahil said.

"Trying hard will not help him find the path when he must lead his own son (to this place?)." I felt Imrahil's sigh on the back of my neck and turned to face him. "Perhaps effort suffices in Dol Amroth, but in the White City it does not. The Shadow does not shirk (I keep wanting to read this as shrink’. Shirk is to avoid a responsibility or duty.) back because we try hard, but because we remind it that Gondor is still strong."

Imrahil looked like he wanted to say more, but he mastered himself and continued silently up the hill. __You flatter yourself, Denethor_._ The thought sprung (sprang) unbidden to my mind. __The Dark Lord_ _(question mark not comma)_ _fear you? And what chance is there Boromir will ever lead his son this way?__ (why? Does he foresee this? Does he think Boromir is a raging homosexual who will never get it on with a woman? There’s no woman worthy of being his bride? Why?) I banished the notion to the far recesses of my mind from whence it came. This was not a day for troubling words, much less for troubling thoughts. (Just what is this day? You’ve made this into a ceremony where the Steward formally names an heir. This is **great**! I **love** the idea, but it does not necessarily follow from the paragraphs you quoted above. You might want to give the reader a line or two about the significance of what is going to happen.)

I walked back to Boromir's side, laying my arm across his shoulders. "Do you see that oak, my boy?" I pointed out an ancient tree whose trunk split into two halves, each twisting around the other until they forged (merged?)(they are reveling in the city before dawn? Or is there some ceremony that is also going to be held in the White Tower?) and Boromir's eyes danced as he watched its flight. __Those are not the eyes of a soldier__ , I thought, surprised by this unusual display of mirth. __But a boy you are yet, for a few hours at least.__

"Denethor!" Imrahil called from ahead. "I found it (the stairs?)!"

Boromir sprinted ahead at that, nearly taking my arm with him, and I ran (hurried?) after him. __Aye, still a boy.__ (How old **is** Boromir? 15? 20? 25? 30? He still acts like boy but has used his sword for many years. Please give the reader a clue as to how old he really is.)

***

We made our way through the woods as fast as we could until at least (last?) we broke through the trees and found the stone stair. We climbed toward the sky, Boromir bounding two and three steps at a time and I not far behind, until at least (last? Do you want two at least’s so close together?) into one some distance up. "That tree stood there when Ecthelion led me along this path when I was your age, and he said it stood when he was a boy as well. Look for it, when you bring your own son along this path, so you know you have not lost the way."

Boromir nodded, breathing in the crisp early morning air. A bird swooped past his ear, and he turned to see it. Its song broke the pre-dawn silence, we found Imrahil standing reverently before the raised mound.

Elbereth's stars fought that night's last fight with Anar before they surrendered the heavens, until tomorrow night. (They were climbing up this overgrown mountain path in the DARK? With no torches?) They always lost, yet they still fought on. Eärendil had long since passed (from?) these mortal lands, and with that precious jewel gone my own now had no rival. (I do not understand this. Are you trying to say that Earendil’s line has died out and so the Stewards have no king to be rival for their power? Or is this some literal jewel I’m not familiar with that you are comparing to the silmaril? It’s a nice metaphor, but I’m not sure what it’s referring to. Is Boromir the precious jewel’ of the Steward?)

Boromir and I walked gravely and took our places beside Imrahil at the row of white stones that circled the crest of the hill. We stood in silence, captivated by the simple image of a white ship and an eagle flying high above laid out in white pebbles on the mound. "Is that… ?" I heard Boromir asked, and Imrahil answered him.

What he answered, I could not say. They faded away, my son and my wife's brother, and I stood in Boromir's place, looking into my own father's eyes, asking him the same question.

"Nine ships there were," he (I think you should name Ecthelion here, or even Ecthelion, my father, to make it clear we’re in a flashback) had said to me, his hand resting on my waist, "and they fled before the black gale of Númenor, out of that twilight of doom into the darkness blacker than the night. And the deeps rose beneath them in towering anger. , (full stop, delete and and start new sentence) and waves (Waves) like unto mountains moving with great caps of tortured snow bore them up beyond the fell clouds, and after many days they were cast down upon our forgotten shores."

I looked up at him, and his eyes were clouded over, searching out the furthest West. Was Elendil's cloud like the one that now shrouded my father's eyes?

"Four they gave us for Elendil," I replied, "and for Isildur three, and for Anárion two. What more mercy should we ask of them?"

Ecthelion smiled at that. "Aye, you are right, son. Such wisdom!" He ruffled my hair. "You must forgive an old man. Sometimes we forget that the greatest trial often holds an even greater gift."

"Father?" Boromir laid his arm on my shoulder, pulling me back from the world of memories. I saw the same question in his eyes.

"Here Elendil lies." I kneeled (knelt) down and opened my pack, pulling out two flowers carved from the wood of one of Nimloth's heirs. "The Valar keep his grave well." I laid one flower on he mound, handing the other to my heir, (make the next part into a separate sentence.) and (I) stood up and (or — Standing up, I) walked to the edge of the clearing.

Some time later I heard Boromir's footsteps behind me. "How many years?" he asked quietly. "How many years make a steward a king?"

Now it was my turn to sigh. "You asked me that question before," I replied.

"Now I (I now) ask it again," he insisted.

"And I will (delete will’) answer you the same way," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "In Gondor, ten thousand years would not suffice."

"And yet here we stand beside Elendil's grave. Ondoher is dead, and Eärnur rode into Minas Morgul near a thousand years ago! This king who shall return, where will he hail from? Perhaps he waits in Númenor and will one day spring out of the sea? (Maybe add some description here of how Denethor receives this flight of fancy to account for the next line of dialogue.) It is as likely as anywhere else, father. Gondor has no king to return."

I refused to meet his eyes but instead let my eyes (gaze?) drift to the North, where I knew the Argonath stood beyond sight. I __could_ _ not face him, (and) tell him that grown men should not engage in such boyish foolishness.

Boromir walked around to face me. "How many years, father?"

"The question is wise," I admitted softly, "but to ask it is foolish. You will be steward after me, until the king comes. And if he never returns, then you and your son after you will still be steward(s), until death takes you or the world ends. And no one, not I nor your people nor the Valar themselves, will hold you in any less honour because the minstrels sang of Boromir the glorious (valiant?) s(S)teward of Gondor."

Boromir nodded slowly, the words seeping in. And it was not Boromir son of Denethor who stood before me, but (I saw him as?) Eärnur, high king of Gondor. I could not have asked for a better gift in this, the darkest hour (what’s happening that makes this **the** darkest hour?) the Faithful had endured (in?) this age. The boy was gone, for the moment at least, replaced by a man well suited to what honour might demand of him."

Imrahil approached, carrying a jewel-studded goblet. He handed it to me, and Boromir bowed without being told. Imrahil grasped the hilt of Boromir's sword and held it out for me to inspect. (Did he pull it out of the scabbard on Boromir’s belt? Is he holding the sword and scabbard in his hands? Did Imrahil carry the sword up the mountain or was Boromir wearing it? Did Boromir take it off and hand it to him a few minutes ago and you didn’t tell us this?) I allowed his eyes to rest on the blade for a moment; custom demanded it, though I already knew its worth. Boromir had wielded it for years already, and it would serve him for many years yet. Yet today, we would put it to a new use.

I handed Boromir the goblet, then took his sword and rested the broad side (this is usually described as the flat of the blade) on his shoulder. "In the name of Elendil, and Mardil, and all the Faithful, I name you, Boromir son of Denethor of the line of Húrin, my rightful heir. May your sword keep you and all Gondor safe, may your heart never falter, and may your memory (Boromir’s memory of this event? Or the memory that the people of Gondor have of Boromir?) be a joy when the years have passed you by."

Boromir rose (raised) his head at that and met my eyes (how? sincerely? eagerly? reluctantly? honestly? openly?). "Fealty and service to Gondor, and to her Lord, I now do swear: to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, in need or plenty, in my lord's living and after his dying, from this hour henceforth, until death take me, or the world end. May my feet never falter, my hands ever find righteous work, and my heart stay true to what it holds dear this day. So say I, Boromir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor."

Then (delete then’) I removed the blade (from where? its hilt? Boromir’s shoulder? Maybe lifted the blade?) and handed it to Imrahil. I laid my hand at the base of the goblet and raised it to my son's lips. As he drained it I heard Imrahil say behind us, "And so do I, Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth and kinsman of the Steward, hear and testify as long as I have breath to do so."

"And so do I also hear," I said at last, resolving not to let the tears welling in my eyes escape down my cheeks. "Though life may be as bitter as this wine, may you drain it to the dregs as thoroughly as you have done here today." I then (delete then’) removed (maybe took’?) the horn (I think you need to foreshadow the horn. Back at the beginning when they are climbing, Denethor should mention the horn that hangs on his neck.) that hung from my own neck and raised it to my lips, sounding it like I had never done before. (Do you mean that he had never sounded the horn before, or that he did a better job of blowing it than he had ever done before? Maybe sounding it more clearly than I had ever done before or more earnestly’ or more musically’ or more fiercely’ or …)

The birds in the **trees** around the edge of the clearing flew from the **trees** (one of these trees’ should be branches’), and a great rush of wings accompanied my last call. Boromir bowed his head, and I settled the baldric around his neck. "Bear this horn to good fortune, my son. Sound it at need, and a thousand orcs shall not keep your brothers in arms from your side."

Then (delete then’) I took the goblet from him and gave it to Imrahil. I placed my hands on his shoulders and he rose (maybe drew him up’?)(with his lips pressed to Boromir’s forehead? You might want to say contemplating his suddenly mature features’ or seeing the man to be in his face’ or ?) Boromir and Eärnur or some new mix of the two, son of kings and son of stewards both. I stepped forward, kissed his brow, and lingered for some time wondering what he was thinking’ or something) before stepping back. He smiled, and we walked back toward the stair leading down from Amôn Anwar.

If ever I needed counsel, I decided, I would not seek it here. 'Twould be sacrilege to spoil a haven such as this with anything so worldly.

_1,794 Words  
_  
*******

Marta replied by e-mail to Gwynnyd’s beta

I'm going to bed shortly so I'll save a full-out rewrite for tomorrow, but I did want to go ahead and address some of your comments. Thanks for this, and thanks for getting back to me so quickly.

He hoped he would never have cause to walk it a third time. (Why? Because it would mean Boromir was dead and he’d have to walk it with Faramir? Thinking fondly of Boromir, he hoped…

I hadn't thought of Boromir dying. Actually that was in reference to a line that I probably should hav quoted: "the King should visit the hallow from time to time, and especially when he felt the need of wisdom in days of danger or distress; and thither also he should bring his heir, when he was full-grown to manhood..."

Then there's the line that I did quote about the steward not coming to the hallows except with their sons. So my thoughts were, every steward came at least twice: when he reached his majority with his father, and when his heir came of age to repeat the ceremony. But the other possible purpose of the hallows was to seek counsel. However, the stewards would only do that in direst need.

Denethor knows the shadow is growing. He looks into the palantír not long after Finduilas dies, and that would have been ten years ago. Denethor is hoping that Gondor doesn't get in so much trouble that he has to come back a third time to seek wisdom in days of danger. I.e., that such a situation never comes up and that Gondor isn't attacked in his lifetime.

I should be cheated of my second hike as well. (as well? Was he cheated of his first hike?)

Perhaps cheated is the wrong word to use here. I was trying to get across that Denethor hoped that he would never face a situation so desperate he'd have to come back a third time, so hoping this would be the last time he'd ever walk this path. In which case "cheated" is the wrong word to describe that hypothetical third trip.

(Does Boromir know why they are going up the mountain? Maybe You know you are needed here.

Yes, Boromir knows. He certainly doesn't act surprised by what happens in the clearing. I'll try to make that more clear here.

_And what chance is there Boromir will ever lead his son this way?_ (why? Does he foresee this? Does he think Boromir is a raging homosexual who will never get it on with a woman? There’s no woman worthy of being his bride? Why?)

No, that’s not what I meant. I was just trying to establish the fact that Denethor has an internal battle going on. On the one hand, he's hoping against hope that Mordor won't attack during his lifetime. On the other hand, he's doing this once-a-generation ceremony and he has to ask himself whether Gondor will survive another generation for Boromir to lead his son here. I need to make that more clear, I suppose.

(they are reveling in the city before dawn? Or is there some ceremony that is also going to be held in the White Tower?)

Well, your future steward only comes of age once... but maybe pre-dawn's a bit much. I'll change that bit, I think, about the people already celebrating back in Minas Tirith. Perhaps I'll have Boromir cast a glance back to Minas Tirith where he knows they will soon be celebrating. I see at least a full day of revelling on Boromir's birthday, with Boromir, Denethor, and Imrahil arriving that evening.)

(How old is Boromir? 15? 20? 25? 30? He still acts like boy but has used his sword for many years. Please give the reader a clue as to how old he really is.)

Twenty. I'll work that in, but is it unreasonable that a twenty-year-old could get excited on a once-in-a-lifetime occasion like this -- something there's almost certainly been a fair amount of build-up to -- but have been serving in the guard in some capacity, for at least 3-4 years (say, since he's sixteen)?

Eärendil had long since passed (from?) these mortal lands, and with that precious jewel gone my own now had no rival. (I do not understand this. Are you trying to say that Earendil’s line has died out and so the Stewards have no king to be rival for their power? Or is this some literal jewel I’m not familiar with that you are comparing to the silmaril? It’s a nice metaphor, but I’m not sure what it’s referring to. Is Boromir the precious jewel’ of the Steward?)

OK, this is confusing, and my apologies. By Eärendil, I'm referring to the star. The star has passed over Middle-earth in its nightly orbit across the sky. It's a reference to Boromir's name which literally means 'Faithful Jewel'. Saying that the only jewel that even began to compare to his own (Boromir, 'Faithful Jewel') was the Silmaril. (And at the same time developing a little bit of Feanor-like attachment to his own jewel; one of Denethor's biggest faults, IMHO, is loving Boromir too much.) But then maybe none of this works and I've just been reading Silm too lately, and it's all fresh in my mind.

Imrahil grasped the hilt of Boromir's sword and held it out for me to inspect. (Did he pull it out of the scabbard on Boromir’s belt? Is he holding the sword and scabbard in his hands? Did Imrahil carry the sword up the mountain or was Boromir wearing it? Did Boromir take it off and hand it to him a few minutes ago and you didn’t tell us this?)

At this point I was looking for something for Imrahil to do, to be honest. I see him, reaching over and grasping the hilt of Boromir's sword (which he is still wearing at this point) and pulling it out of the scabbard, then handing it to Denethor. Are there safety considerations that make that impractical? How does this usually work, historically? Does the person being pledged take out the sword, or what?

may your memory (Boromir’s memory of this event? Or the memory that the people of Gondor have of Boromir?) be a joy when the years have passed you by."

the people's memory of Boromir. I think I was subconsciously pulling on an old Jewish saying I picked up as a kid, often said at funerals: "may his name be a blessing." Any suggestions on how to make this clearer?

sounding it like I had never done before. (Do you mean that he had never sounded the horn before, or that he did a better job of blowing it than he had ever done before? Maybe sounding it more clearly than I had ever done before or more earnestly’ or more musically’ or more fiercely’ or …)

It's the last time he's ever going to blow the horn, so I suppose he'd do a really good job of it. I'll change this to "sounding it more fiercely".

Right, well that's it for general comments. Carol, as always, thank you. I'm so glad to have someone who knows a bit about these kind of ceremonies and can help me polish this piece off


	3. Version 2 of How Many Years?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This article provides several examples of how authors and beta readers can work together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure the quotes I use from UT are exactly right. If I send you guys along the passage will you suggest appropriate ones?

Second draft posted by **Marta** with revisions based on Gwynnyd’s comments. Tanaqui's comments made by e-mail are included at the end. No comment was made by Gwynnyd on this draft in light of a major rewrite requested by Tanaqui.

Marta’s comments are in red.  
Tanaqui’s comments are in pink-purple

*******

"How Many Years?" version 2  
by Marta  
12 March 2004

"They made a level space, and at its eastward end they raised a mound; within the mound Isildur laid a casket that he bore with him. Then he said: 'This is a tomb and memorial to the Kingdom of the South in the keeping of the Valar, while the Kingdom endures; and this place shall be a hallow that none shall profane. Let no man disturb its silence and peace, unless he be an heir of Elendil."

"If then Mardil had exercised the authority of the King in his absence, the heirs of Mardil who had inherited the Stewardship had the same right and duty until a King returned; each steward therefore had the right to visit the hallow when he would and to admit to it those who came with him… Nonetheless, the Stewards, partly from awe, and partly from the cares of the kingdom, went very seldom to the hallow on the Hill of Anwar, except when they took their heir to the hill-top, according to the custom of the Kings."

\-- "The Tradition of Isildur," Pt IV of "Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship  
of Gondor and Rohan," JRR Tolkien's Unfinished Tales

"And this I remember of Boromir as a boy, when we together learned the tale of our sires and the history of our city, that always it displeased him that his father was not king. 'How many hundreds of years needs it to make a steward a king, if the king returns not?' he asked. 'Few years, maybe, in other places of less royalty,' my father answered. 'In Gondor ten thousand years would not suffice.'"

\-- "The Window on the West," Book II, The Two Towers

Marta's note: I'm not sure the quotes I use from UT are exactly right. If I send you guys along the passage will you suggest appropriate ones?

I last travelled this path with my father over fifty years ago It was not this overgrown in my memories. Saplings now grew in the middle of the trail, not just along the edges as they had of old. You could hardly call it a path, but the sons of Húrin walked it nonetheless. Each man of my house travelled it twice, once with his father and once with his son. The sons of Húrin had never needed counsel so desperately that they ventured here a third time. It was well I remembered the path so clearly, or even this second walk would not have happened. My arm lay comfortably over the Horn of Gondor that hung around my neck. I had worn it every day since that first walk. For the first time I realized I would miss its comfortable presence.

"Boromir," I called, turning back to face him as he lagged behind. His head snapped around to face me then, but not quickly enough for him to hide the furtive look back toward Minas Tirith where they would soon be celebrating his twentieth birthday. "They will still celebrate when you return," I assured him, "and they will sing all the louder for your arrival. You know you are needed here."

"The boy tries hard," Imrahil said.

"Trying hard will not help him find the path when he must lead his own son to this place." I felt Imrahil's sigh on the back of my neck and turned to face him, his torch shining warmly against my face. "Perhaps effort suffices in Dol Amroth, but in the White City it does not. The Shadow does not shrink back because we try hard, but because we remind it that Gondor is still strong."

Imrahil looked like he wanted to say more, but he mastered himself and continued silently up the hill. __You flatter yourself, Denethor.__ The thought sprang unbidden to my mind. __The Dark Lord? Fear you? And what chance is there that Gondor will survive long enough for Boromir to lead his son this way?__ I banished the notion to the far recesses of my mind from whence it came. You only named your heir once, and troubling words, much less troubling thoughts, should not mar such a day.  
  
I walked back to Boromir's side, holding my torch arm out to light the path and laying my other arm across his shoulders. "Do you see that oak, my boy?" I pointed out an ancient tree whose trunk split into two halves, each twisting around the other until they merged into one some distance up. "That tree stood there when Ecthelion led me along this path when I was your age, and he said it stood when he was a boy as well. Look for it, when you bring your own son along this path, so you will know you have not lost the way."

Boromir nodded, breathing in the crisp early morning air. A bird swooped past his ear, and he turned to see it. Its song broke the pre-dawn silence, and Boromir's eyes danced as he watched its flight. __Those are not the eyes of a soldier__ , I thought, surprised by this unusual display of mirth. __But a boy you are yet, for a few hours at least.__

"Denethor!" Imrahil called from ahead. "I found the stairs!"

Boromir sprinted ahead at that, nearly taking my arm with him, and I hurried after him. __Aye, still a boy.__

***

We made our way through the woods as fast as we could until at last we broke through the trees and found the stone stair. We climbed toward the sky, Boromir bounding two and three steps at a time and I not far behind, until we found Imrahil standing reverently before the raised mound.

Elbereth's stars fought that night's last fight with Anar before they surrendered the heavens, until tomorrow night. They always lost, yet they still fought on. Eärendil's ship had already passed from these mortal lands, and with that precious jewel gone my own -- my son, more valuable than any silmaril -- now had no rival.

Boromir and I walked gravely and took our places beside Imrahil at the row of white stones that circled the crest of the hill. We stood in silence, captivated by the simple image of a white ship and an eagle flying high above laid out in white pebbles on the mound. "Is that… ?" I heard Boromir asked, and Imrahil answered him.

What he answered, I could not say. They faded away, my son and my wife's brother, and I stood in Boromir's place, looking into my own father's eyes, asking him the same question.

"Nine ships there were," my father Ecthelion had said to me, his hand resting on my waist, "and they fled before the black gale of Númenor, out of that twilight of doom into the darkness blacker than the night. And the deeps rose beneath them in towering anger. Waves like unto mountains moving with great caps of tortured snow bore them up beyond the fell clouds, and after many days they were cast down upon our forgotten shores."

I looked up at him, and his eyes were clouded over, searching out the furthest West. Was Elendil's cloud like the one that now shrouded my father's eyes?

"Four they gave us for Elendil," I replied, "and for Isildur three, and for Anárion two. What more mercy should we ask of them?"

Ecthelion smiled at that. "Aye, you are right, son. Such wisdom!" He ruffled my hair. "You must forgive an old man. Sometimes we forget that the greatest trial often holds an even greater gift."

"Father?" Boromir laid his arm on my shoulder, pulling me back from the world of memories. I saw the same question in his eyes.

"Here Elendil lies." I knelt down and opened my pack, pulling out two flowers carved from the wood of one of Nimloth's heirs. "The Valar keep his grave well." I laid one flower on he mound, handing the other to my heir. Standing up, I walked to the edge of the clearing.

Some time later I heard Boromir's footsteps behind me. "How many years?" he asked quietly. "How many years to make a steward a king?"

Now it was my turn to sigh. "You asked me that question before," I replied.

"I now ask it again," he insisted.

"And I answer you the same way," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "In Gondor, ten thousand years would not suffice."

"And yet here we stand beside Elendil's grave. Ondoher is dead, and Eärnur rode into Minas Morgul near a thousand years ago! This king who shall return, where will he hail from? Perhaps he waits in Númenor and will one day spring out of the sea?" My head snapped around, my eyes begging Boromir to watch his words in front of his uncle. It is as likely as anywhere else, father," he finished. "Gondor has no king to return."

I let my gaze drift far to the North, where I knew the Argonath stood beyond sight. I could not face him, could not tell him that grown men should not engage in such boyish foolishness. Boromir walked around to face me. "How many years, father?"

"The question is wise," I admitted softly, "but to ask it is foolish. You will be steward after me, until the king comes. And if he never returns, then you and your son after you will still be stewards, until death takes you or the world ends. And no one, not I nor your people nor the Valar themselves, will hold you in any less honour because the minstrels sang of Boromir the valiant Steward of Gondor."

Boromir nodded slowly, the words seeping in. And it was not Boromir son of Denethor who stood before me, but I saw him as Eärnur, high king of Gondor. The Shadow may yet return, but the Valar had sent me a mighty gift with which to fight it. I could not have asked for a better gift in this, the darkest hour the Faithful had endured in this age. The boy was gone, for the moment at least, replaced by a man well suited to what honour might demand of him."

Imrahil approached, carrying a jewel-studded goblet. He handed it to me, and Boromir bowed without being told. Boromir pulled his scabbard and sword from his belt and handed it to his uncle. Imrahil grasped the hilt of Boromir's sword and held it out for me to inspect. I allowed his eyes to rest on the blade for a moment; custom demanded it, though I already knew its worth. Boromir had wielded it for years already, since he first joined the guard at sixteen, and it would serve him for many years yet. Yet today, we would put it to a new use.

I handed Boromir the goblet, then took his sword and rested the flat of the blade on his shoulder. "In the name of Elendil, and Mardil, and all the Faithful, I name you, Boromir son of Denethor of the line of Húrin, my rightful heir. May your sword keep you and all Gondor safe, may your heart never falter, and may your legacy be a joy when the years have passed you by."

Boromir raised his head at that and met my eyes sincerely. "Fealty and service to Gondor, and to her Lord, I now do swear: to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, in need or plenty, in my lord's living and after his dying, from this hour henceforth, until death take me, or the world end. May my feet never falter, my hands ever find righteous work, and my heart stay true to what it holds dear this day. So say I, Boromir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor."

I lifted the blade and handed it to Imrahil. I laid my hand at the base of the goblet and raised it to my son's lips. As he drained it I heard Imrahil say behind us, "And so do I, Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth and kinsman of the Steward, hear and testify as long as I have breath to do so."

"And so do I also hear," I said at last, resolving not to let the tears welling in my eyes escape down my cheeks. "Though life may be as bitter as this wine, may you drain it to the dregs as thoroughly as you have done here today." I took the horn that hung from my own neck and raised it to my lips, sounding it more fiercely than I had ever done before.

The birds in the trees around the edge of the clearing flew from the branches, and a great rush of wings accompanied my last call. Boromir bowed his head, and I settled the baldric around his neck. "Bear this horn to good fortune, my son. Sound it at need, and a thousand orcs shall not keep your brothers in arms from your side."

I took the goblet from him and gave it to Imrahil. I placed my hands on his shoulders and drew him up, Boromir and Eärnur or some new mix of the two, son of kings and son of stewards both. I stepped forward, kissed his brow, contemplating his suddenly mature features, before stepping back. He smiled, and we walked back toward the stair leading down from Amôn Anwar. Marta's note: not sure the "I stepped forward" sentence works completely -- suggestions on phrasing gladly welcome.

If ever I needed counsel, I decided, I would not seek it here. 'Twould be sacrilege to spoil a haven such as this with anything so worldly.

1,948 words

*******

Tanaqui finally gets a chance to read this version—and wishes she had read the first version, when she identifies a big canon issue. This is an example of trying to break **really bad news** to an author in a nice way through e-mail (Marta can let you know if Tanaqui succeeded.):  
  
I love so many things about this story—Denethor comparing Boromir to Earnur, the conversation about the King returning and Denethor's very smart answer, and the ceremony you use when Denethornaming Boromir his heir. However (and I really feel like I'm raining on your, I have a canon issue here that means I'm struggling to accept this story (although you will see I do think I have a way to solve it) ....  
  
This is taking place in 2998 when Boromir is 20? Is there not one of the chain of beacons now on top of the hill? The last part of "The Tradition of Isildur" says:  


  


> Cirion gave long thought to this matter before he granted Calenardhon to the Horsemen of the North; and he judged that its cession must change wholly the "Tradition of Isildur" with regard to the hallow of Amon Anwar. To that place he brought the Lord of the Rohirrim, and there by the mound of Elendil he with the greatest solemnity took the Oath of Eorl, and was answered by the Oath of Cirion, confirming for ever the alliance of the Kingdoms of the Rohirrim and of Gondor. But when this was done, and Eorl had returned to the North to bring back all his people to their new dwelling, **Cirion removed the tomb of Elendil.** For he judged that the "Tradition of Isildur" was now made void. The hallow was no longer "at the midpoint of the Kingdom of the South," but on the borders of another realm; and moreover the words "while the Kingdom endures" referred to the Kingdom as it was when Isildur spoke, after surveying its bounds and defining them. It was true that other parts of the Kingdom had been lost since that day: Minas Ithil was in the hands of the Nazgul, and Ithilien was desolate; but Gondor had not relinguished its claim to them. Calenardhon it had resigned for ever under oath. Thecasket therefore that Isildur had set within the mound Cirion removed to the Hallows of Minas Tirith; but the green mound remained as the memorial of a memorial. **Nonetheless, even when it had become the site of a great beacon, the Hill of Anwar was still a place of reverence to Gondor and to the Rohirrim, who named it in their own tongue Halifirien, the Holy Mount.**  
> 

There doesn't appear to be any information about when the beacons were created, except that it was probably after the Eorlingas came to Calenardhon and probably longer ago than 20 years before the War,Gandalf tells Pippin on the way to Minas Tirith: 'It is long since the beacons of the North were lit.'

So even if the Stewards still make the trip to Amon Anwar/Halifirien, it's not going to be the overgrown and deserted place you describe.

On the other hand, I think this scenario would work equally well (with a few changes) in the hallow on Mindolluin where Gandalf takes Aragorn and they find the sapling of the White Tree.

Sorry, Marta—I really DO love so much about this story and I hope we can work out a way round this issue.  
***

 **Marta** is very, very gracious about being asked to do a major rewrite. This section interleaves comments from several e-mails between **Marta** and _Tanaqui_ (including the one quoted above) discussing the issue. Replies in subsequent e-mails are marked == > and then  
However (and I really feel like I'm raining on your, I have acanon issue here that means I'm struggling to accept this story (although you will see I do think Ia way to solve it) ....

If you're raining on my parade, it's my fault I didn't bring an umbrella. I really should have caught that bit at the end, and I'm not quite sure why I didn't.

There doesn't appear to be any information about when the beacons were created, except that it was probably after the Eorlingas came to Calenardhon and probably longer ago than 20 years before the War,Gandalf tells Pippin on the way to Minas Tirith: 'It is long since the beacons of the North were lit.'

As much as I wish I didn't, I have to agree with you. There's no way a beacon standing less than twenty years would have been described as not having been lit in a long time.  
On the other hand, I think this scenario would work equally well (with a few changes) in the hallow on Mindolluin where Gandalf takes Aragorn and they find the sapling of the White Tree.

That might actually work better. I wasn't sure precisely how far this hallows was from Minas Tirith, but I was concerned about them getting back to Minas Tirith that same day, which I thought they'd want to. _== > _This Hallows is on the border with Rohan—four or five days ride from Minas Tirith (it's at the other end of the beacon chain)

Is the hallows/road to the hallows actually described in RotK? I'll look up the passage if you just tell me yes or no. _== > _Yes, end of "The Steward and the King" _:_

What other changes would I need to make?

_== > _here are the other things I had issues with—not many solutions, it's more questions for you to answer!  
  
Imrahil looked like he wanted to say more, but he mastered himself and continued silently up the hill. __You flatter yourself, Denethor.__ _ _The Dark Lord? Fear you? And what chance is there that Gondor will survive long enough for Boromir to lead his son this way?__ I banished the notion to the far recesses of my mind from whence it came. You only named your heir once, and troubling words, much less troubling thoughts, should not mar such a day.  
  
 _== > _Just a thought here, but I was wondering whether Denethor was already using the Palantir and "wrestling in thought with Sauron" here.

I got the idea somewhere that Denethor began using the palantír soon after Finduilas died... i.e., ten years before this event? Whether he used it to "wrestle in thought with Sauron" at this point is, I suppose, up for grabs.

_I think it's in the Palantir essay in UT that he probably started using itsoon as he became Steward and it hastened Finduilas's end. **== > **You're right. At any rate it's significantly before this piece (set 2998 TA). And I've tried to reverence that in the latest version._

_Elbereth's stars fought that night's last fight with Anar before they surrendered the heavens, until tomorrow night. They always lost, yet they still fought on. Eärendil's ship had already passed from these mortal lands, and with that precious jewel gone my own -- my son, more valuable than any silmaril -- now had no rival.  
  
 _== > __I love the images and the concept you're trying to convey here, but it still doesn't quite work for me. Boromir is not a star. 

_No, but he's a jewel, and that's what is providing the light of Eärendil's ship, at least as I understand it. Perhaps it's more confusion than it's worth? _No, it's worth wrestling with because it's a lovely image/concept. Leave it as it is and I'll give it a proper think when I do a line-by-line beta of version 3!__

_**== > All right. I've tinkered with it slightly, and included both the original and a slightly edited version in the latest version I just sent out.**  
I looked up at him, and his eyes were clouded over, searching out the furthest West. Was **Elendil's cloud** like the one that now shrouded my father's eyes?  
  
 _== > Not entirely clear what you mean by Elendil's cloud__

_Marta quotes from the Silmarillion:And the deeps rose beneath them in towering anger. **Waves like unto mountains moving with great caps of tortured snow bore them up beyond the fell clouds** , and after many days they were cast down upon our forgotten shores."_

__OK, the connection between the two parts doesn't seem strong enough to me for me to "get it"._  "And I answer you the same way," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "In Gondor, ten thousand years would not suffice."_

_"And yet here we stand beside Elendil's grave. Ondoher is dead, and Eärnur rode into Minas Morgul near a thousand years ago! This king who shall return, where will he hail from? Perhaps he waits in Númenor and will one day spring out of the sea?" My head snapped around, my eyes begging Boromir to watch his words in front of his uncle. It is as likely as anywhere else, father," he finished. "Gondor has no king to return."_

_I let my gaze drift far to the North, where I knew the Argonath stood beyond sight. I could not face him, could not tell him that grown men should not engage in such boyish foolishness. Boromir walked around to face me. "How many years, father?"  
  
"The question is wise," I admitted softly, "but to ask it is foolish. You will be steward after me, until the king comes. And if he never returns, then you and your son after you will still be stewards, until death takes you or the world ends. And no one, not I nor your people nor the Valar themselves, will hold you in any less honour because the minstrels sang of Boromir the valiant Steward of Gondor."  
  
 _== > I LOVE this dialogue but started wondering about whether you will have Denethor _**_know_** _here about Aragorn and the Northern Line at this point__

___That's a good question. I think he knows that a northern line exists, but he also knows that their claim was rejected. I don't think he's made the connection between Thorongil and the Northern Line, but I'm not sure what I'm basing that assumption on besides instinct._

__There's some stuff in App A that suggests Denethor does have a pretty good idea who Thorongil may be. I am starting to wonder if part of his use of the Palantir is to try and find Aragorn and find out what he's up to_ _

_== > App. A is entirely too information-dense for my own good; there's always a bit I've forgotten. Yes, you're right, he did guess who Thorongil was, but (as I said in IM tonight) I don't think Denethor would have accepted him as a legitimate king of Gondor. I personally think he saw him as a potential usurper. But I've referenced this in the current version._

_I allowed his eyes to rest on the blade for a moment; custom demanded it, though I already knew its worth.  
  
 _== > Didn't understand this—whose eyes?__

_That should (and will) be "my eyes" -- Denethor's.  
Boromir raised his head at that and met my eyes sincerely. "Fealty and service to Gondor, and to her Lord, I now do swear: to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, in need or plenty, in my lord's living and after his dying, from this hour henceforth, until death take me, or the world end. May my feet never falter, my hands ever find righteous work, and my heart stay true to what it holds dear this day. So say I, Boromir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor."  
  
 _== > I LOVE ALL the oaths—but would Boromir not be renewing this oath, since he has been serving in the army since he was sixteen [note: LizMarta!verse fanon] and must have been sworn to Gondor then? So maybe make it clearer he's renewing it?__

_== > Glad to hear it! I really enjoy writing poetic prose, since it lets me indulge my poetry muse without worrying about rhyming. Notice how much of my stories have poetry or verse woven in somehow! But I was afraid I was overdoing it a bit, so I'm glad to hear it works._

__== > — but but would Boromir not be renewing this oath, since he has been serving in the army since he was sixteen and must have been sworn to Gondor then? So maybe make it clearer he's renewing it? _==> Would it be sufficient to say "Fealty and service to Gondor, and to her Lord, I now do affirm: "?  _Yep :-D__

==> Those are the major nitpicks, I think the rest is just phrasing. The thought sprang unbidden to my mind.  



	4. Version 3 of How Many Years?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This article provides several examples of how authors and beta readers can work together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help with the quotes please. Do you guys actually need anything to set the stage for this, or would it be better to just begin the story? Originally, when I thought I was doing Amon Anwar, I felt I needed some explanation, but now I'm not so sure.

Third draft posted by Marta with revisions based on Tanaqui’s suggestions. Comments by Tanaqui in the text, with subsequent e-mail discussion included at the end. Gwynnyd for real-life reasons unable to comment on this third draft.

Third draft posted by Marta with revisions based on Tanaqui’s suggestions. Comments by Tanaqui in the text, with subsequent e-mail discussion included at the end. Gwynnyd for real-life reasons unable to comment on this third draft.

Marta’s comments are in red.

Tanaqui’s comments are in mauve.

*******

This IS really getting there—I am so moved when I read the end of this. There's rather a lot of pink pen still, I'm afraid, but I think it's coming on immeasurably and I hope these comments help!

"How Many Years?"  
by Marta  
13 March 2004

"They made a level space, and at its eastward end they raised a mound; within the mound Isildur laid a casket that he bore with him. Then he said: 'This is a tomb and memorial to the Kingdom of the South in the keeping of the Valar, while the Kingdom endures; and this place shall be a hallow that none shall profane. Let no man disturb its silence and peace, unless he be an heir of Elendil."

"If then Mardil had exercised the authority of the King in his absence, the heirs of Mardil who had inherited the Stewardship had the same right and duty until a King returned; each steward therefore had the right to visit the hallow when he would and to admit to it those who came with him… Nonetheless, the Stewards, partly from awe, and partly from the cares of the kingdom, went very seldom to the hallow on the Hill of Anwar, except when they took their heir to the hill-top, according to the custom of the Kings."

\-- "The Tradition of Isildur," Pt IV of "Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship  
of Gondor and Rohan," JRR Tolkien's Unfinished Tales

"And this I remember of Boromir as a boy, when we together learned the tale of our sires and the history of our city, that always it displeased him that his father was not king. 'How many hundreds of years needs it to make a steward a king, if the king returns not?' he asked. 'Few years, maybe, in other places of less royalty,' my father answered. 'In Gondor ten thousand years would not suffice.'"

\-- "The Window on the West," Book II, The Two Towers

Marta’s note: help with the quotes please. Do you guys actually need anything to set the stage for this, or would it be better to just begin the story? Originally, when I thought I was doing Amon Anwar, I felt I needed some explanation, but now I'm not so sure.

Given you’ve changed the location, you might just be better putting these quotes — together with some of the text I sent you about Aragorn and Gandalf going to the hallow on Mindolluin—in an author’s notes chapter, explaining how you are linking the **Tradition of Isildur** with the hallow on Mindolluin.

***

I last travelled this path with my father over — delete? I think it’s actually 49 years? fifty years ago. It was not this overgrown in my memories. Reverse the order? In my memories, it was not this overgrown. Saplings now grew sprouted? To avoid grown/grew repetition? in the middle of the trail, not just along the edges as they had of old — delete as unnecessary, you’ve already got now earlier in the sentence?. Even when the kings ruled Gondor comma? few but they ever came this way, and — delete and replace with semi-colon? since the last of Anórien's line rode away and did not return, comma? less should be fewer! still disturbed the hallows. Each steward came thought to come? Since you then say they may come a third time. only twice, once with his father and again with his son. We Maybe: We hoped the days would not prove so dark that we would not need to brave the road a third time to seek counsel?

Grammar note: **fewer** is for countable nouns (those with a singular and plural form eg person/people) while **less** is for uncountable nouns ie it refers to quantity (less sugar, less misery).

Marta note: some of this new material feels rough, phrasing wise… help?

It was well I remembered the path so—delete clearly, or I could not have travelled the path even this second time travelled it a second time?. Mindolluin was is? Since we are in Denethor’s thoughts here and the present? treacherous; colon? nature and man had -delete forged paths leading everywhere and nowhere, semi-colon? and Húrin's sons did not visit the hallows did not tread them? often enough to make the right road any — delete? clearer than the wrong.

Suggest new para here

I held my torch arm — delete? out before me, searching the ground for some time, while my other laid lay? comfortably over the Horn of Gondor that hung around my neck. I had worn it every day since that first walk. For the first time I realised I would miss its comfortable presence. Might be better to say some thing more concrete than for the first time eg : I realised, as I sought the path on which I would lead my own son, that I would miss its comfortable presence?

Grammar note: You want the past tense of lie = lay (intransitive only, be at or come to rest’) not the past tense of lay = laid (transitive only, put to rest’). See the info on this page for more details: http://webster.commnet.edu/grammar/notorious2.htm

"Boromir," I called, turning back to **face** him as where? he lagged behind. His head snapped around to **face** me then, but not quickly enough to hide the furtive look down the mountain toward the pencil-thin towers of Minas Tirith far below. If Denethor sees Boromir snap his head round, Boromir is not hiding the furtive look at all, since Denethor has caught him casting it! Maybe: His head snapped around as he abandoned a furtive look down the mountain toward the pencil-thin towers of Minas Tirith far below? The seven circles would soon be ringing with song as the people celebrated his twentieth birthday. After all, the steward's heir only came of age once every generation, and they did not intend to waste this opportunity. As per the note below, maybe: The seven circles would soon be ringing with song, for the people would not waste the opportunity that came only once every generation to celebrate the coming of age of the steward’s heir. "They will still celebrate when you return," I assured him, "and they will sing all the louder for your arrival. You know you are needed here. Maybe: But now you are needed here?"

Marta's note: Is the "After all" sentence necessary? I was trying to make it obvious that Boromir is coming of age, but I may not need to.

I think you can make Boromir’s exact age clearer when you mention his service with the guard later?

"The boy tries hard," Imrahil said.

"Trying hard will not help him find the path when he must lead his own son this way." I’d like a tone of voice here? Eg:I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. I felt Imrahil's sigh on the back of my neck and turned to face him, his torch shining warmly against my face. Reading on, I’ve realised I’m unclear on where the three of them are relative to each other — Denethor appears to be leading the way (he is searching for the path) but when he turns round, Imrahil’s breath is on his neck, so Imrahil must have been standing very close either in front or immediately to one side, which doesn’t square with Denethor searching to me. It would help me if you could you think about the blocking in the scene a little more and make sure where everyone is does make sense and is clearer. "Perhaps effort suffices in Dol Amroth, but in the White City it does not. The Shadow does not shrink back because we try hard, but because we remind it that Gondor is still strong."

Very Denethor — lovely!

Imrahil looked like he wanted to say more, but he mastered restrained? himself and continued silently up the hill add: past me? To make it clearer that Denethor is still stopped and Imrahil gets ahead of him. __You flatter yourself, Denethor.__ The thought sprang unbidden to my mind. __The Dark Lord? Fear you? And what chance is there that Gondor will survive long enough for Boromir to lead his son this way?__ The black Stone of Minas Tirith Maybe just call it the black stone — since it’s the only one Denethor has and people will either know what it is or the extra words won’t help. Also if you are going to use the adjective black, stone should be lower case I think. So you could maybe also have just The Stone had revealed to me the armies festering behind the Ephel Dúath, and I shivered to think of them. All hope seemed fey* , but Gondor would persevere beyond hope, until the king returned.

* fey: 1) interested or believing in the supernatural 2) clairvoyant, visionary 3) fated, doomed to die 4) in a state of high spirits. It comes from the old English for "marked out for death". I think you are trying for sense 3 but it strikes me only people not abstract concepts like hope can be fey? Maybe just foolish? or even "All hope seemed folly" to echo the exchange between Denethor and Gandalf?

But I LOVE these two sentences about the Stone and Denethor’s reaction to what he sees in it.

That cold laughter filled my head then, as unyielding and uncaring as it always was when I dared the stone capitalise Stone?. But troubling words, much less troubling thoughts, should not mar such a day. Yet neither troubling words nor thoughts should mar such a day? I banished them to the far recesses of my mind from whence they came and tried to think about happier things. From whence they came seems over-elaborate to me. Maybe just: I banished them back to the far recesses of my mind and tried to think of happier times?

I walked back to Boromir's side, holding my torch arm—delete? out in one hand? to light the way and laying my other arm across his shoulders, my horn pressing into his side. Is there a reason why the horn is pressing into Boromir’s side? The phrasing sounds a bit awkward. Maybe: The horn that lay between us pressed into my side? This perhaps begins to convey the transfer of horn (and metaphorically, the burden/pain of being Steward). "Do you see that oak, my boy?" I pointed out one of the trees that grew this high. Two things here. Firstly, Denethor still seemed lost and searching for the way earlier, so why does he seem to suddenly recognise this oak. Maybe the oak is something they passed a few yards back, so it’s clear Denethor must have recognised it and taken them past it. Secondly one of the trees that grew this high implies there are not that many (ie they are getting near to the tree line, yet they later, implying there are many trees ahead. Maybe: "Do you see that oak, my boy?" I pointed out a tree we had past a few yards back. Its trunk was split into two halves, each twisting around the other until they merged into one some distance up some way above the ground?. "That tree stood there when your grandfather Ecthelion led me along this **path** when I was your age, and he said it stood when he was a boy as well. Look for it, when you bring your own son along this **path** bring your own son this way?, so you will know you have not lost the way."

Boromir nodded, breathing in the crisp early morning air. A bird swooped past his ear, and he turned to see it. Its song broke the pre-dawn silence, and Boromir's eyes danced as he watched its flight. A rather tame bird! Maybe just: a bird swooped past and he turned his head to follow its flight. Its song broke the pre-dawn silence, and Boromir's eyes danced as he watched it. __Those are not the eyes of a soldier__ , I thought, surprised by this unusual display of mirth. __But a boy you are yet, for a few hours at least.__ The But… doesn’t quite make logical sense to me. Maybe: _Yes, a boy you are yet, for a few hours at least._

Blocking again! I got the impression (because the bird flew past his ear) that Boromir turned his head **away** from Denethor to watch the bird, so how could Denethor see his eyes? So maybe even have he turned his head towards me to follow it’s flight?

"Denethor!" Imrahil called from ahead. "I found the clearing!"

Boromir sprinted ahead at that, nearly taking my arm with him, and I hurried after him. I think you need to put Boromir’s separation from Denethor before his sprinting. Maybe: At that, Boromir shrugged off my arm and sprinted ahead, and I hurried after him. __Aye, still a boy.__

***

We made our way through the woods perhaps last of the woods? Since you implied they were near the tree-line earlier? until at last we broke through the trees and found the clearing. Imrahil stood reverently before the raised mound. Elbereth's stars fought that night's last fight with Anar before they surrendered the heavens, until tomorrow fought. They always lost, yet they still fought on. Eärendil's ship had already passed from these mortal lands, bearing his precious jewel away past Elvenhome. With the silmaril gone Boromir, my own faithful jewel, had no rival.

Marta’s note: I tweaked it, but I’m still not sure if it works entirely. The passage originally was: Elbereth's stars fought that night's last fight with Anar before they surrendered the heavens, until tomorrow night. They always lost, yet they still fought on. Eärendil's ship had already passed from these mortal lands, and with that precious jewel gone my own -- my son, more valuable than any silmaril -- now had no rival.

My attempt: Above us, Elbereth’s stars fought the night’s last fight with Anar, before they surrendered the heavens for another day. They always lost, yet they fought.on each morning. Eärendil's ship had passed from these mortal lands some minutes bgefore, bearing his precious jewel away towards Elvenhome. With the silmaril gone, Boromir -- my own faithful jewel, more precious to me than any work of craft -- now had no rival.

In the stuff below, you still have a lot of description that relates to Amon Anwar and the crest of a hill, I think we are now in a clearing in a hollow or small valley on the side of the mountain. I have suggested some edits for how things might be laid out in the new scenario.

Boromir and I walked gravely and took our places beside Imrahil Boromir and I gravely took our places beside Imrahil? at the row of white stones that circled the crest of the hill circled the mound at the centre of the hollow? We stood in silence, captivated by the simple image of a white ship and an eagle flying high above laid out in white pebbles on the mound on the grassy slope?. Is that… ?" I heard Boromir ask, and Imrahil **answered** him.

What he **answered** What words he spoke?, I could not say. They faded away, my son and my wife's brother, and I stood in Boromir's place, looking into my own father's eyes, asking him the same question.

"Nine ships there were," Ecthelion had said to me, his hand resting on around? my waist, "and they fled before the black gale of Númenor, out of that twilight of doom into the — delete? darkness blacker than the night. And the deeps rose beneath them in towering anger. Waves like unto mountains moving with great caps of tortured snow bore them up beyond the fell clouds, and after many days they were cast down upon our forgotten shores."

I LOVE that paragraph — wonderfully evocative lanaguage

I looked up up? Is Ecthelion much taller than a 20 year old Denethor? Maybe across? at him, and his eyes were clouded over, searching out the furthest West. Was Elendil's cloud, that cursed cloud he had sailed through from Númenor to Middle-earth, like the one that now shrouded my father's eyes?" delete quote mark and maybe put Was Elendil… in italics as Denethor’s thought?

"Four they gave us for Elendil," I replied uncertainly, "and for Isildur three, and for Anárion two. What more mercy should we ask of them?"

Ecthelion smiled at that. "Aye, you are right, son. Such wisdom!" He ruffled my hair. "You must forgive an old man. Sometimes we forget that the greatest trial often holds an even greater gift."

Oh, this is a WONDERFUL exchange too!

"Father?" Boromir laid his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back from the world of memories pulling me back from my memories?. I saw the same question in his eyes.

"Here Elendil lies." IS this Elendil’s grave — Amon Anwar wasn’t, especially after the casket was removed — I always assumed it went to Rath Dinen, but it just said the hallows so maybe it was reburied here? I knelt down and opened my pack, pulling out two flowers carved from the wood of one of Nimloth's heirs. "The Valar keep his grave well." I laid one flower on the mound, handing the other to __my__ heir. Standing up, I walked to the edge of the clearing.

I’m not clear where they are putting the carved flowers — my first read through, I thought they were adding to the design of the ship etc, but I see now that that is in pebbles. So where did you see them putting the carved flowers ? (Lovely idea for a tribute, btw)

Also, at the edge of the clearing — can Denethor just see trees in front of him or does the ground fall away steeply, so he is looking over the tops of trees on the slopes below and can see Gondor before him? Would maybe clarify things later if you put a bit of description about that in at this point.

Some time later I heard Boromir's footsteps behind me. "How many years?" he asked quietly. "How many years to make a steward a king?"

Now it was my turn to sigh. "You asked me that question before," I replied.

"I now ask it again," he insisted.

"And I answer you the same way," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "In Gondor, ten thousand years would not suffice."

"And yet here we stand beside Elendil's grave. Ondoher is dead, and Eärnur rode into Minas Morgul near a thousand years ago! This king who shall return, where will he hail from? Perhaps he waits in Númenor and will one day spring out of the sea?" My head snapped around, my eyes begging Boromir to watch his words in front of his uncle. It is as likely as anywhere else, father," he finished. "Gondor has no king to return."

Marvellous dialogue — and nice movie dialogue echo!

I let my gaze drift far to the North, beyond where I knew the Argonath stood comma? beyond the horizon to Arnor, the land of Arvedui's heirs. Maybe, just to make it clearer if people are less well versed in Arnor/Gondor history: the land of the heirs of Arvedui, last king, the land of the heirs of Isildur? Yet they had no claim in Gondor, semi-colon or even colon? that had been decided long years ago. Who else was there, then? Usurpers like that — delete? Thorongil? How then could I tell Boromir that grown men should not ask such boyish questions?

He walked around to face me. "How many years, father?"

"The question is wise," I admitted softly, "but to ask it is foolish. You will be steward after me, and your son after you, until the king returns. And if he never returns, then we will be steward then you and I and our heirs will be stewards until death breaks our line or the world ends. And no one, not I comma? nor your people comma? nor the Valar themselves, will hold you in any less honour because the minstrels sang of Boromir the valiant Steward of Gondor."

Boromir nodded slowly, the words seeping in. And it was not Boromir son of Denethor who stood before me: I saw him as Eärnur, high king of Gondor. Maybe: before me: for an instant, I saw Eärnur, high king of Gondor? The Shadow might return lengthen?, but the Valar had sent me a **mighty** gift with which to fight it. I could not have asked for a **mightier** powerful? weapon in this, the very hour of Sauron's return, the darkest hour the Faithful had endured this age. The boy was gone, for the moment at least, replaced by a man well suited to what honour would demand of him.

Again, wonderful paragraph — great sentiments, beautifully expressed, lovely echoes of Tolkien.

Imrahil approached, carrying a jewel-studded goblet. He **handed** it to me, and Boromir kneeled without being told. He pulled the scabbard and sword from his belt and handed it to his uncle. I tripped over he pulled — which he? So maybe: Imrahil approached and handed me a jewel-studded goblet. Boromir knelt without being told, pulled the scabbard and sword from his belt and passed it to his uncle. Imrahil grasped the hilt of Boromir's sword —delete, it’s clear which sword we are talking about? and held it out for me to inspect. I allowed my eyes to rest on the blade for a moment; custom demanded it, though I already knew its worth. Boromir had wielded it for four? Gets over Boromir’s age! years already, since the day he joined the guard at sixteen, and it would serve him for many years **yet** many years to come. **Yet** —just delete this one — the sentence has more punch without it today, we would put it to a new use.

I **handed** Boromir the goblet, then took his sword and rested the flat of the blade on his shoulder. "In the name of Elendil, and Mardil, and all the Faithful, I name you, Boromir son of Denethor of the line of Húrin, my rightful heir. May your sword keep you and all Gondor safe, may your heart never falter, and may your legacy be a joy when the years have passed you by."

Boromir raised his head at that and met my eyes sincerely. Implies the gesture of meeting Denethor’s eyes is sincere, not the look in them. Maybe: met my eyes with a sincere look in his own? "Fealty and service to Gondor, and to her Lord, I now do affirm: to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, in need or plenty, in my lord's dying and after his dying, from this hour henceforth, until death take me, or the world end. May my feet never falter, my hands ever find righteous work, and my heart stay true to what it holds dear this day. So say I, Boromir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor."

I lifted the blade and **handed**  Two I… I… sentences- it’s a bit flat. Maybe: Laying my hand at the base of the goblet, I raised it to my son’s lips. As he drained it I heard Imrahil say behind us, "And so do I, Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth and kinsman of the Steward, hear and testify as long as I have breath to do so."

"And so do I also hear," I said at last, resolving not to let the tears welling in my ears escape down my cheeks. "Though life may be bitter as this wine, may you drain it to the dregs as thoroughly as you have done here today." I took the horn that hung from my own neck and raised it to my lips, sounding it more fiercely than I had ever done before.

Beautiful, beautiful oaths! Very moving

The birds in the trees around the edge of the clearing flew from the branches, and a great rush of wings accompanied my last call. Boromir bowed his head, and I settled the baldric around his neck. "Bear this horn to good fortune, my son. Sound it at need, no comma! and a thousand orcs shall not keep your brothers in arms from your side."

I took the goblet from him and gave it to Imrahil. I placed my hands on his shoulders and drew him up, Boromir and Eärnur or some new mix of the two, son of kings and son of stewards both. I **stepped** forward and kissed his brow, contemplating his suddenly mature features before **stepping** back. He smiled, and we walked back toward the path leading down Mindolluin toward Minas Tirith.

Again, blocking doesn’t feel quite right here—why can’t Boromir give the goblet straight to Imrahil? And if they are of roughly equal height, it will be hard for Denethor to kiss him on the forehead. Maybe try:

Imrahil took the goblet from Boromir and I placed my hands on his shoulders and drew him up: Boromir and Eärnur or some new mix of the two, son of kings and son of stewards both. He bowed his head and I kissed his brow, contemplating his suddenly mature features. As I stepped back, he lifted his head and smiled at me, before we turned away to the path leading down Mindolluin toward Minas Tirith.

Whatever came **tomorrow** Whatever tomorrow brought?, I would not return; whatever counsel I might need **tomorrow** — delete this one? And add a comma? I would find it? elsewhere. 'Twould be sacrilege to spoil a haven such as this with anything so worldly.

Marta's Note: Two "I would"s in a row, I know, but I can't sem to avoid it. Suggestions?

Actually, I like them, I like the symmetry and the rhythm!

_Word count: 2,135_

Marta and Tanaquidiscuss some parts of Tanaqui’s beta by e-mail. Replies in subsequent e-mails are marked ==> and then  
This IS really getting there—I am so moved when I read the end of this.

I'm very glad to hear that.

There's rather a lot of red pen still, I'm afraid, but I think it's coming on immeasurably and I hope these comments help!

Thanks. I'll work through and get you another version, but I just wanted to address two comments quickly.

But I LOVE these two sentences about the Stone and Denethor’s reaction to what he sees in it.

I'm glad to hear it. I was actually concerned about using "festering" to describe the orc armies. I like the image of the armies of Mordor as diseased, but according to Merriam-Webster, the verb has several meanings:

1 : to generate pus  
2 : PUTREFY, ROT  
3 a : to cause increasing poisoning, irritation, or bitterness : RANKLE festered unchecked > b : to undergo or exist in a state of progressive deterioration fester >  
 _transitive senses_ : to make inflamed or corrupt

The first two are correct for how I'm using the word, I think. 3a is particularly apt, I think; it's exactly the sense I'm after. But 3b suggests a decline, and that's not what I mean at all. The orc armies are actually getting more powerful. Was this at all confusing?

A bird swooped past his ear, and he turned to see it. Its song broke the pre-dawn silence, and Boromir's eyes danced as he watched its flight. A rather tame bird!

Apparently we breed braver birds in America, or maybe I just live in a rural enough area where they're not as frightened of humans. My experience may be rather unusual, however: just this week a deer came from the woods into my sister's garden where I was working and came within a metre of me. And we live pretty close to downtown, off a cut-through street between two major interstate highways... so a bird swooping by someone's ear is a completely normal picture to me, but maybe it is bold for other areas.

Re: the exchange between Ecthelion and Denethor. The reason it's such evocative language is it's lifted from a quote in the Akallabêth:

Nine ships there were: four for Elendil, and for Isildur three, and for Anárion two; and they fled before the black gale out of the twilight of doom into the darkness of the world. And the deeps rose beneath them in towering anger, and waves like unto mountains moving with great caps of writhen snow bore them up amid the wreckage of the clouds, and after many days cast them away upon the shores of Middle-earth.

Ditto for the oaths. So much of that is adapted from Pippin's oath to Denethor in RotK, which I think is one of the most beautiful things in the entire book. I suppose there's somthing to be said for picking the right quote to insert, but the beauty itself is not my doing!

"Here Elendil lies." IS this Elendil’s grave — Amon Anwar wasn’t, especially after the casket was removed — I always assumed it went to Rath Dinen, but it just said **the hallows** so maybe it was reburied here?

I hadn't thought of Rath Dínen? being referred to as the hallows as well (which it is, of course, in the Pyre of Denethor chapter and elsewhere.) I reread the paragraph at the end of the UT section last night, and for some reason I just assumed it went to the hallowed place. Does this keep you from believing the story? (IE, do I need to change it?)

Working through detailed comments:

I last travelled this path with my father over — delete? I think it’s actually 49 years?

I could have sworn I'd read somewhere that Denethor married Finduilas when he was 50, but according to the Tale of Years he would have been 46, and 48 when Boromir was born. So I've fixed that.

I think we were all vaguely using Denethor = 50, Finduilas = 25 when there was that discussion over at[ CanonNoFanon ](http://groups.yahoo.com/group/canonNOfanon/?yguid=66261959)about his relative attractiveness and why she would marry him.

His head snapped around as he abandoned a furtive look down the mountain toward the pencil-thin towers of Minas Tirith far below.

Is it okay that I've described the towers as pencil-thin? Tolkien uses pencils too (in the description of the hallows Liz sent yesterday), but it feels modern.

If Tolkien uses it, I think you're OK, especially if its in description rather than dialogue (I mean, does he not mention an express train during his description of the fireworks at Bilbo's birthday party?!?) Checking my dictionary (very useful having one with etymologies) pencil comes into the English language in the 14c from old French from the Latin for a small painter's brush (and it can still mean that).

==> I'd never heard of pencil meaning a painter's brush, and I knew that writing pencils were fairly recent. But Tolkien used it, and the word apparently is quite ancient. So that's good enough for me.

Re: the flowers... I've tried to make it clear that they're putting them right under the ship, and that Denethor's and Boromir's aren't the first. Is this at all clear? (And glad you like the tribute! What can I say, I've got a thing for the White Tree... )

I thought that's probably what they were doing with them, but if you have such a lovely image, you might as well make it clear! And yes, the White Tree is marvellously symbolic 


	5. Version 4 of How Many Years?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This article provides several examples of how authors and beta readers can work together.

Fourth draft posted by Marta with revisions based on Tanaqui’s suggestions. Comments by Tanaqui and Gwynnyd in the text, with subsequent e-mail discussion included at the end.

Marta's comments are in red.  
Gywnnyd’s comments are blue.  
Tanaqui's comments are in mauve.

***

A few very minor edits on the new version—but I think you really have cracked it and that this is quite wonderful. Denethor is simply marvellous here: all that mixed love and pride and fear. Congratulations!I agree. This is marvelous! Just a couple things from me. Eminently ignorable things, if you choose.

"How Many Years?"  
by Marta  
14 March 2004

I last travelled this path with my father nearly fifty years ago. In my memories, it was not this overgrown. Saplings now sprouted in the middle of the trail, not just along the edges. Even when the kings ruled Gondor, few but they ever came this way; since the last of Anórien's line rode away and did not return, fewer still disturbed the hallows. Each steward thought to come only twice, once with his father and again with his son. We hoped the days would not prove so dark that we would need to brave the world way? a third time to seek counsel.

This is weird, but I keep stumbling over the opening paragraph. I finally figured out what I was doing was not reading what you had written. I was internally editing your verbs into a different tense as I went along.

I think you have a viewpoint shift after the second sentence that is causing the problem and jarring me. The first two sentences are clearly Denethor's thoughts as he walks up the path. But then the the path itself is described from a narrator's POV, because it the verb tenses don't make it sound like it is still Denethor thinking these things.

I've wrestled wit this a lot lately myself in the Hal/Estel fic, and it it a subtle thing. It's probably OK the way you have it, but my brain keeps wanting it to read like this:

"I last travelled this path with my father nearly fifty years ago. In my memories, it is not this overgrown. Saplings now sprout in the middle of the trail, not just along the edges. Even when the kings ruled Gondor, few but they ever came this way; since the last of Anórien's line rode away and did not return, fewer still disturb the hallows. Each steward thinks to come only twice, once with his father and again with his son. We hope the days will not prove so dark that we need to brave the path a third time to seek counsel."

You could also fix it by making the verb constructions more passive, but you know how I feel about that!

"I last travelled this path with my father nearly fifty years ago. In my memories, it is not this overgrown. Saplings now are sprouting in the middle of the trail, not just along the edges. Even when the kings ruled Gondor, few but they ever came this way; since the last of Anórien's line rode away and did not return, fewer still have disturbed the hallows. Each steward has thought to come only twice, once with his father and again with his son. We have hoped the days would not prove so dark that we needed to brave the path a third time to seek counsel."

It was well I remembered the path clearly, or I could not have travelled it a second time. Mindolluin is treacherous: nature and man forged paths leading everywhere and nowhere; Húrin's sons did not tread them often enough to make the right road clearer than the wrong.

I held my torch out before me, searching the ground for some time, while my other arm? (sorry, my fault for making you take arm out earlier) comfortably over the Horn of Gondor that hung around my neck. I had worn it every day since that first walk. I realised, as I sought the path on which I would lead my own son, that I would miss its comfortable presence.

"Boromir," I called, turning back to face him where he lagged behind. His head snapped around as he abandoned a furtive look down the mountain toward the pencil-thin towers of Minas Tirith far below. The seven circles would soon be ringing with song as the people **celebrated** his twentieth birthday, for the people they? would not waste the opportunity that came only once every generation to **celebrate** mark? the coming of age of the steward's heir. After all, the steward's heir only came of age once every generation, and they did not intend to waste this opportunity—delete! You said this in the sentence before. "They will still celebrate when you return," I assured him, "and they will sing all the louder for your arrival. But now you are needed here."

"The boy tries hard," Imrahil said.

I stopped mid-step "Trying hard will not help him find the path when he must lead his own son this way," I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. I heard Imrahil sigh and turned to face him, his torchlight dancing on my face. "Perhaps effort suffices in Dol Amroth, but in the White City it does not. The Shadow does not shrink back because we try hard, but because we remind it that Gondor is still strong."

Just for my information, how does Imrahil know where the clearing is? He finds it first, after all. If he finds it by 'trying hard' are you just using this to show how unreasonable Denethor is with his son?

Imrahil looked like he wanted to say more, but he restrained himself and continued silently up the hill past me. __You flatter yourself, Denethor.__ The thought sprang unbidden to my mind. __The Dark Lord? Fear you? And what chance is there that Gondor will survive long enough for Boromir to lead his son this way?__ The Stone had revealed to me the armies festering behind the Ephel Dúath, and I shivered to think of them. All hope seemed folly, but Gondor would persevere beyond hope, until the king returned.

That cold laughter filled my head then, as unyielding and uncaring as it always was when I dared the Stone. Yet neither troubling words nor troubling thoughts should mar such a day as today. I banished them back to the far recesses of my mind and tried to think about happier times.

I walked back to Boromir's side, holding my torch out in one hand to light the way and laying my other arm across his shoulders. The horn lay between us comma? pressed into my side. "Do you see that oak, my boy?" I pointed out a tree we had past passed! a few yards back. Its trunk was split into two halves, each twisting around the other until they merged into one some way above the ground. "That tree stood there when your grandfather Ecthelion led me along this path when I was your age, and he said it stood when he was a boy as well. Look for it, when you bring your own son this way, so you will know you are not lost."

Boromir nodded, breathing in the crisp early morning air. A bird swooped past and he turned his head towards me to follow its flight. Its song broke the pre-dawn silence, and Boromir's eyes danced as he watched it. __Those are not the eyes of a soldier__ , I thought, surprised by this unusual display of mirth. __Yes__ comma? _ _a boy you are yet, for a few hours at least.__

"Denethor!" Imrahil called from ahead. "I found the clearing!"

At that, Boromir shrugged off my arm and sprinted ahead, and I hurried after him. __Aye, still a boy.__

***

We made our way through the **last** of the woods until **at last** finally? we broke through the trees and found the clearing. Imrahil stood reverently before the raised mound. Above us, Elbereth's stars fought the night's last fight with Anar, before they surrendered the heavens for another day. They always lost, yet they fought on each morning. Eärendil's ship had passed from these mortal lands some minutes before, bearing his precious jewel away towards Elvenhome. With the silmaril gone, Boromir -- my own faithful jewel, more precious to me than any work of craft -- now had no rival.

Boromir and I gravely took our places beside Imrahil at the row of white stones that circled the mound at the centre of the hollow. We stood in silence, captivated by the simple image of a white ship and an eagle flying high above laid out in white pebbles on the grassy slope. Is that… ?" I heard Boromir ask, and Imrahil answered him.

What words he spoke, I could not say. They faded away, my son and my wife's brother, and I stood in Boromir's place, looking into my own father's eyes, asking him the same question.

"Nine ships there were," Ecthelion had said to me, his hand resting around my waist, "and they fled before the black gale of Númenor, out of that twilight of doom into darkness blacker than the night. And the deeps rose beneath them in towering anger. Waves like unto mountains moving with great caps of tortured snow bore them up beyond the fell clouds, and after many days they were cast down upon our forgotten shores."

I looked across at him, and his eyes were clouded over, searching out the furthest West. Was Elendil's cloud, that cursed cloud he had sailed through from Númenor to Middle-earth, like the one that now shrouded my father's eyes?"

"Four they gave us for Elendil," I replied uncertainly, "and for Isildur three, and for Anárion two. What more mercy should we ask of them?"

Ecthelion smiled at that. "Aye, you are right, son. Such wisdom!" He ruffled my hair. "You must forgive an old man. Sometimes we forget that the greatest trial often holds an even greater gift."

"Father?" Boromir laid his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back from my memories. I saw the same question in his eyes.

"Here Elendil lies." I knelt down and opened my pack, pulling out two flowers carved from the wood of one of Nimloth's heirs. "The Valar keep his grave well." I laid one flower on the mound, adding it to my father's tribute and my grandfather Túrin's before him. Standing up, I handed the other flower to Boromir and walked to the edge of the clearing. The ground fell away there, and I watched the sun's first light shine down on the glory that was Gondor.

Some time later I heard Boromir's footsteps behind me. "How many years?" he asked quietly. "How many years to make a steward a king?"

Now it was my turn to sigh. "You asked me that question before," I replied.

"I now ask it again," he insisted.

"And I answer you the same way," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "In Gondor, ten thousand years would not suffice."

"And yet here we stand beside Elendil's grave. Ondoher is dead, and Eärnur rode into Minas Morgul near a thousand years ago! This king who shall return, where will he hail from? Perhaps he waits in Númenor and will one day spring out of the sea?" My head snapped around, my eyes begging Boromir to watch his words in front of his uncle. "It is as likely as anywhere else, father," he finished. "Gondor has no king to return."

I let my gaze drift far to the North, beyond where I knew the Argonath stood, beyond the horizon to Arnor, the land of the heirs of Arvedui, last king, home of the heirs of Isildur. Yet they had no claim in Gondor; that had been decided long years ago. Who else was there, then? Usurpers like Thorongil? How then could I tell Boromir that grown men should not ask such boyish questions?

He walked around to face me. "How many years, father?"

"The question is wise," I admitted softly, "but to ask it is foolish. You will be steward after me, and your son after you, until the king returns. And if he never returns, then you and I and our heirs will be stewards until death breaks our line or the world ends. And no one -- not I, nor your people, nor the Valar themselves -- will hold you in any less honour because the minstrels sang of Boromir the valiant Steward of Gondor."

Boromir nodded slowly, the words seeping in. And it was not Boromir son of Denethor who stood before me: for an instant, I saw Eärnur, high king of Gondor. The Shadow might return, but the Valar had sent me a mighty gift with which to fight it. I could not have asked for a more powerful weapon in this, the very hour of Sauron's return, the darkest hour the Faithful had endured this age. The boy was gone, for the moment at least, replaced by a man well suited to what honour would demand of him.

Imrahil approached and handed me a jewel-studded goblet. Boromir knelt without being told, pulled the scabbard and sword from his belt and passed it them? to his uncle. Imrahil grasped the hilt and held the sword out for me to inspect. I allowed my eyes to rest on the blade for a moment; custom demanded it, though I already knew its worth. Boromir had wielded it for four years already, since the day he joined the guard at sixteen, and it would serve him for many years to come. Today, we would put it to a new use.

I placed the goblet in Boromir's waiting hands, then took his sword and rested the flat of the blade on his shoulder. "In the name of Elendil, and Mardil, and all the Faithful, I name you, Boromir son of Denethor of the line of Húrin, my rightful heir. May your sword keep you and all Gondor safe, may your heart never falter, and may your legacy be a joy when the years have passed you by."

Boromir raised his head at that and met my eyes with a sincere look of his own. "Fealty and service to Gondor, and to her Lord, I now do affirm: to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, in need or plenty, in my lord's dying and after his dying, from this hour henceforth, until death take me, or the world end. May my feet never falter, my hands ever find righteous work, and my heart stay true to what it holds dear this day. So say I, Boromir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor."

I lifted the blade and returned it to Imrahil. Laying my hand at the base of the goblet, I raised it to my son's lips. As he drained it I heard Imrahil say behind us, "And so do I, Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth and kinsman of the Steward, hear and testify as long as I have breath to do so."

"And so do I also hear," I said at last, resolving not to let the tears welling in my ears escape down my cheeks. "Though life may be bitter as this wine, may you drain it to the dregs as thoroughly as you have done here today." I took the horn that hung from my own neck and raised it to my lips, sounding it more fiercely than I had ever done before.

The birds in the trees around the edge of the clearing flew from the branches, and a great rush of wings accompanied my last call. Boromir bowed his head, and I settled the baldric around his neck. "Bear this horn to good fortune, my son. Sound it at need and a thousand orcs shall not keep your brothers in arms from your side."

Imrahil took the goblet from Boromir and I placed my hands on his shoulders and drew him up: Boromir and or?ärnur or some new mix of the two, son of kings and son of stewards both. He bowed his head and I kissed his brow, contemplating his suddenly mature features. As I stepped back, he lifted his head and smiled at me, before we turned away to the path leading down Mindolluin toward Minas Tirith.

Whatever tomorrow brought, I would not return; whatever counsel I might need I would find elsewhere. 'Twould be sacrilege to spoil a haven such as this with anything so worldly.

_Word count: 2,239_

***

Tanaqui and Marta commented separately on Gwynnyd’s beta (interleaved here to save repetition)

This is weird, but I keep stumbling over the opening paragraph.

I think you have a viewpoint shift after the second sentence that is causing the problem and jarring me. The first two sentences are clearly Denethor's thoughts as he walks up the path. But then the the path itself is described from a narrator's POV, because it the verb tenses don't make it sound like it is still Denethor thinking these things.

I agree with Carol. I was vaguely aware there was something wrong but think I was doing such a close edit, I couldn't see the wood for the trees  
  
I like Carol's first rewrite turning it into all Denethor's thoughts, with manypresent tense verbs.

All right. I don't like your second suggestion (the one about making it more passive -- sorry!) but the first I think actually makes it clearer. I'll go change those verbs.

Just for my information, how does Imrahil know where the clearing is? He finds it first, after all. If he finds it by 'trying hard' are you just using this to show how unreasonable Denethor is with his son?

Imrahil doesn't "know" where the hallows is, but he does happen upon it. My thoughts are that Denethor's a lot closer than he realised. (The last time he walked it, _he_ was the twenty-year-old who wanted to be down in the city instead of hiking up a mountain before dawn, so it probably seemed a bit further to him at that age than it really was, plus that was nearly fifty years ago.)

I’m thinking that if Denethor hadn't been able to follow the path exactly, they probably would have found the hallows any way; after all, it's rather hard to miss stumbling across a clearing. And yes, I think Denethor is being rather unreasonably hard on Boromir, but he's only doing that because he's trying to be a good dad.

The final version can be found in the HASA public archive in the story [How Many Years?](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=3342)


	6. Party On!  a pure grammar, spelling and canon beta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This article provides several examples of how authors and beta readers can work together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this piece with the grammatical errors included is most definitely not representative of Gwynnyds usual fine abilities as a writer. Gwynnyd not only deliberately wrote the piece with errors, but also provided the beta comments to correct them. In these aspects, her prose is always a joy for her beta readers to work with.

This piece was deliberately written (and corrected) by Gwynnyd to demonstrate how a strict grammar, spelling and canon beta would tackle a piece. The next chapter provides an example of short comments on plot, characterisation, continuity and style on the same piece corrected for grammar, spelling and canon issues.

_The beta’s comments are in italics_  
  
Note: this piece with the grammatical errors included is most definitely not representative of Gwynnyd’s usual fine abilities as a writer. Gwynnyd not only deliberately wrote the piece with errors, but also provided the beta comments to correct them. In these aspects, her prose is always a joy for her beta readers to work with.

***

**Party On!**

_This title is very modern, you might want to change it to something not quite so slangy._

~~Aragron~~ _Aragorn_ , was _either delete 'was' or add 'and' in front of 'had' in the next phrase_ recently crowned King of Gondor, had more work to do than was his want _'want' is to need something, I think you meant 'wont' which means 'accustomed to'_. He fondly remembered long days, _delete comma_ of travel with nothing to do but stride along, eyes watching for signs of trouble, while his mind was free to think and plan. Now the plans had come to ~~fruitition~~ ; _'fruition' also the semi-colon is unnecessary, delete it and add 'and'_ time to think was in short supply.

In days overloaded with meeting people he had little time to ~~himslef~~ _himself_ and ~~then~~ _'then' is unnecessary, delete_ snatched odd moments of rest and recreation where he could find them. Dawn was only just blushing the sky a deep ~~rosey~~ _rosy_ red and he was indulging in a private moment. What needed planning was no ~~feat~~ _I think you meant 'fete', a festival or feast, not 'feat', a deed_ of great import, but it promised to provide him with some real entertainment amidst the more formal functions he was expected to attend every day.

Eomer wished to honor some of the Captains of the ~~Ridermark~~ _Ridermark should be Riddermark_ with a party in Minas Tirith.

"It's not that I don't have the resources, Aragorn,' Eomer explained, "But _but should not be capitalised, as you have a comma after the speech tag (explained) and Eomer’s words are all one sentence_ when we came south, I was not expecting to have to fund so much from my private purse." He shrugged and poured another pint of ale into his mug. "While Gondor has been very generous in supporting my troops since we arrived, I really do not expect you to pay for this. And ~~then~~ _delete 'and then', unnecessary, capitalize 'The'_ the tavern-keepers of this city are just as suspicious of foreign soldiers as ever. I could make arrangements as the King of Rohan, but." He _There should be a comma after 'but' and "he" should NOT be capitalized_ shrugged again and paused with his mug halfway to his lips. He smiled. "I'm no more used to being a king than you are, and I want to enjoy myself without worrying about the tavern keeper _decide if you want tavern-keeper to be hyphenated or not_ telling tales of the wild King of Rohan. Its _It's, you need the apostrophe because the word is 'it is' not the possessive_ bad enough that they will talk about the wild Rohirrim. You are still planning to join us?"

Aragorn laughed. "Wouldn't miss it, even if I do have to use my Ranger skills to sneak away from a formal ~~recepiton~~. _reception_ We are agreed then. Your stallion Firefoot will cover Roheryn _Roheryn is referred to as 'he' in RotK, "Aragorn's own horse that they had brought from the North; Roheryn was his name._ _Maybe just make this four mares?_ and three other mares from my private stables and my privy purse will pay for your party. But not damage to the inn, mind you. The city is battered enough without that."

"Agreed." Eomer looked around puzzled. "Was not Faramir to been here _'to be here' or 'to have been here' would be better, 'to be here' is more active and more archaic sounding_ to handle the funds transfer discreetly?"

Aragorn laughed again. "He is. He was. My Steward needs a steward. He ~~recieved~~ _received_ word this morning of a crack in some historic building or other and needs must check it out himself. He'll be back ~~present~~. _'presently', should be adverb form_ "

"Ah, then I can wait." He drank a deep draft _'draught' would be a more archaic spelling of 'draft'_ of the ale. He thought about how hard it was to find what he thought of as a good breakfast in Gondor. _This sentence shifts into Eomer's point of view. Because this is the onlyplace where you do this, I would delete it for consistency. Maybe make the information part of the dialogue?_ "Prince Imrahil keep _'keeps'_ wanting me to discuss our border issues with the Dunlendings,  _delete comma, unnecessary_ over breakfast." Eomer shuddered. "Once was enough for that. Odd herb drinks and tiny, sweet cakes. Faugh." He ~~stubbed~~ _I think you mean 'stabbed'_ a slice of meat off the tray on the table between them with the point of his belt knife. "At least you know what a man's breakfast should look like."

Aragorn ~~razed~~ _'raze' is to tear down, 'raise' is to lift up, I think you need 'raised' here_ his eyebrows in disbelief. "I remember your grandmother. She knew what a fork was for. Rohan has gone sadly downhill." Aragorn ~~shhaked~~ _shook_ his head sorrowfully, then _change to 'and' and delete comma or change to 'and then' if you want to keep the comma_ speared his own piece of meat off the tray with a knife.

The men were still chuckling when there was knock at the door. Prince Imrahil entered and bowed formally to his King and then to the king of rohan. _You either need capitalization for both instances of_ _king_ _or for neither — arguments have been put forward for both approaches; my preference is for no capitalization in these circumstances. Rohan definitely needs capitalization though._ He stood stiffly in front of the king.

"Sire, I have distressing news to report."

Aragorn removed his booted feet from the low table and sat up ~~straiter~~ _'strait' is a passage between two bodies of water, I think you mean "straighter'_.

Imrahil squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and continued in the tones of one delivering unwelcome news, "Faramir was seen drinking heavily in several taverns in the lower city last night."

Aragorn waited for the bad news. As the pause continued: _colon should be a comma, or delete 'As' and capitalize "The" to make it two complete thoughts joined by a colon_ it seemed that Imrahil was finished.

"And, Aragorn prompted?" _question mark should be after 'and' and followed by the quote mark. Put a period at the end. "And?" Aragorn prompted._

__Imrahil made a clean breast of it. "With the periannath _italicize_ , ~~that~~ _refers to people. Should be 'who were'_ were also drinking heavily."

Aragorn thought back to the hobbit's  _just one hobbit? I think you mean hobbits', plural possessive_ drinking habits in Bree. That there was beer left in the citadel continually surprised him. With four hobbits and _add 'a'_ dwarf to supply he expected to hear of shortages every day. Imrahil was still standing stiffly in front of him.

"Ah," Aragorn prevaricated. "That is certainly unfortunate."

"I was ~~their~~ , _'their' is the possessive, should be 'there' the place_ too," Eamer _Eomer_ contributed, in a spirit of helpfulness. "Pippin ~~searched~~ _'was searching'_ for brews that compared to the ones in the Shire and Bree and he and Merry disagreed on the flavors. Faramir and I went along to ..." He trailed off into silence at the sour look on the Prince's face.

"Well, in that case, I will speak no more of it." Imrahil bowed to Eomer and turned to ~~Aragrorn~~. _Aragorn_ "But you should certainly discuss this disgraceful behavior with your Steward, my lord. It reflects very badly on the family. And the periannath _periannath, this is a foreign word and should be italicized_ need to be spoken to, as well."

"Certainly, certainly," Aragorn said smoothingly. _while Aragorn wants to 'smooth out the situation', 'smoothingly' is not a word. Did you mean 'soothingly'?_ He stood and maneuvered Imrahil ~~at~~ _to_ the door. "Yes, you can leave it _add 'to'_ me. I will ~~certenly~~ _certainly_ speak to them about their unseemly behavior last night."

Seconds after the door closed behind Imrahil, it opened again to admit Faramir. His red-gold hair _Are we in movie!verse? Because you mention Imrahil & Roheryn by name, I thought this was book!verse and so should be consistent. If so, Faramir has black hair. When he first meets Frodo he is described as "Frodo saw that they were goodly men, pale-skinned, dark of hair, with grey eyes and faces sad and proud." And of course when he is on the battlements with Eowyn his hair is described as 'raven', "and their hair, raven and golden" _was windblown from standing on the battlements in the morning breeze, but his eyes ~~was~~ _were_ clear and sparkling. He held up a hand to ~~fourstall~~ _forestall_ whatever Aragorn was going to say.

"Have I disgraced you to the point where you ask for my resignation?" he said smiling. "Uncle Imrahil certainly ~~seem~~ _'seems' verbs ending in 's' are singular, 'Uncle Imrahil", one person, is the subject_ to think you will when you heard _either 'seems to think you would when you heard' or 'seems to think you will when you hear' tenses of the verbs must agree._ about my carouse last night. Although what he ~~were~~ doing _'was doing' again, it's a singular verb_ in the third level at that hour, he never said."

Aragorn ~~sits~~ _should be kept past tense, 'sat'_ back down and gestured Faramir into a vacant chair by the table. He poured Faramir a mug of ale and handed it to him.

"I hardly need hair-of-the-dog," Faramir said wryly, putting the mug down and helping ~~him~~ _himself_ to a ~~peace~~ _wrong word, "piece'_ of bread from the tray.

"Nah, nah," Eomer said gesturing with his own mug. "Breakfast ale. Weak enough for babies.

Aragorn looked ~~severly~~ _severely_ at Faramir. "I do however have a very serious issue to discuss with you about your behavior last night." He included Eomer in his disapproval. "Both of you."

Faramir swallowed the bread. "Yes, my lord. I am sorry..."

Aragorn cut him off. "You trusted Pippin to be able to tell the difference between the ales. You, lords of Gondor and Rohan, went too _'to', if you want to use 'too' in the sense of more than enough, it needs to be 'went to too many'_ many of the taverns in the city and drank indiscriminately."

Faramir and Eomer exchanged guilty glances.

Aragorn drove the lesson home, 'And you didn't think to invite me?"

_Very nice. I like the humor. I think you've done a good job of capturing a funny moment. You might also want to add the diacritical marks in the name Éomer, although that's not strictly necessary as I think people will recognize it either way._


	7. Paying for the Party  short comments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This article provides several examples of how authors and beta readers can work together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And many thanks to Marta for the original discussion that led to this idea *******

This chapter provides an example of short comments on plot, characterisation, continuity and style on the piece in the previous chapter once it was corrected for grammar, spelling and canon issues. The comments were provided by Tanaqui, who really struggled to find things to criticise, because Gwynnyd did a very nice job in writing a funny story. The characterisation of Imrahil as pompous and priggish was a deliberate choice by Gwyynyd when writing the piece, to show that a grammar, spelling and canon beta (as provided in the previous chapter) would not address what could be seen as a major flaw in the story.

Comments are at the end.

*******

**Paying for the Party**

Aragorn, recently crowned King of Gondor, had more work to do than was his wont. He fondly remembered long days of travel with nothing to do but stride along, eyes watching for signs of trouble, while his mind was free to think and plan. Now the plans had come to fruition and time to think was in short supply.

In days overloaded with meeting people he had little time to himself and snatched odd moments of rest and recreation where he could find them. Dawn was only just blushing the sky a deep rosy red and he was indulging in a private moment. What needed planning was no fete of great import, but it promised to provide him with some real entertainment amidst the more formal functions he was expected to attend every day.

Éomer wished to honor some of the Captains of Rohan with a party in Minas Tirith.

“It’s not that I don’t have the resources, Aragorn,’ Éomer explained, “but when we came south, I was not expecting to have to fund so much from my private purse.” He shrugged and poured another pint of ale into his mug. “While Gondor has been very generous in supporting my troops since we arrived, I really do not expect you to pay for this. The tavern keepers of this city are just as suspicious of foreign soldiers as ever. I could make arrangements as the King of Rohan, but,” he shrugged again and paused with his mug halfway to his lips. He smiled. “I’m no more used to being a king than you are, and I want to enjoy myself without worrying about the tavern keeper telling tales of the wild King of Rohan. It’s bad enough that they will talk about the wild Rohirrim. You are still planning to join us?”

Aragorn laughed. “Wouldn’t miss it, even if I do have to use my Ranger skills to sneak away from a formal reception. We are agreed then. Your stallion Firefoot will cover four mares from my private stables and my privy purse will pay for your party. But not damage to the inn, mind you. The city is battered enough without that.”

“Agreed.” Éomer looked around puzzled. “Was not Faramir to be here to handle the funds transfer discreetly?”

Aragorn laughed again. “He is. He was. My Steward needs a steward. He received word this morning of a crack in some historic building or other and needs must check it out himself. He’ll be back presently.”

“Ah, then I can wait.” He drank a deep draught of the ale. “Good breakfast ale is hard to come by in this city. Prince Imrahil keeps wanting me to discuss our border issues with the Dunlendings over breakfast.” Éomer shuddered. “Once was enough for that. Odd herb drinks and tiny, sweet cakes. Faugh.” He stabbed a slice of meat off the tray on the table between them with the point of his belt knife. “At least you know what a man’s breakfast should look like.”

Aragorn raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “I remember your grandmother. She knew what a fork was for. Rohan has gone sadly downhill.” Aragorn shook his head sorrowfully and speared his own piece of meat off the tray with a knife.

The men were still chuckling when there was knock at the door. Prince Imrahil entered and bowed formally to his King and then to the King of Rohan. He stood stiffly in front of the king.

“Sire, I have distressing news to report.”

Aragorn removed his booted feet from the low table and sat up straighter.

Imrahil squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and continued in the tones of one delivering unwelcome news, “Faramir was seen drinking heavily in several taverns in the lower city last night.”

Aragorn waited for the bad news. As the pause continued, it seemed that Imrahil was finished.

“And?” Aragorn prompted.

Imrahil made a clean breast of it. “With the periannath, who were also drinking heavily.”

Aragorn thought back to the hobbits’ drinking habits in Bree. That there was beer left in the citadel continually surprised him. With four hobbits and a dwarf to supply he expected to hear of shortages every day. Imrahil was still standing stiffly in front of him.

“Ah,” Aragorn prevaricated. “That is certainly unfortunate.”

“I was there, too,” Éomer contributed in a spirit of helpfulness. “Pippin was searching for brews that compared to the ones in the Shire and Bree and he and Merry disagreed on the flavors. Faramir and I went along to …” He trailed off into silence at the sour look on the Prince’s face.

“Well, in that case, I will speak no more of it.” Imrahil bowed to Éomer and turned to Aragorn. “But you should certainly discuss this disgraceful behavior with your Steward, my lord. It reflects very badly on the family. And the _periannath_ need to be spoken to, as well.”

“Certainly, certainly,” Aragorn said soothingly. He stood and maneuvered Imrahil towards the door. “Yes, you can leave it me. I will certainly speak to them about their unseemly behavior last night.”

Seconds after the door closed behind Imrahil, it opened again to admit Faramir. His raven hair was windblown from standing on the battlements in the morning breeze, but his eyes were clear and sparkling. He held up a hand to forestall whatever Aragorn was going to say.

“Have I disgraced you to the point where you ask for my resignation?” he said smiling. “Uncle Imrahil certainly seems to think you would when you heard about my carouse last night. Although what he was doing in the third level at that hour, he never said.”

Aragorn sat back down and gestured Faramir into a vacant chair by the table. He poured Faramir a mug of ale and handed it to him.

“I hardly need hair-of-the-dog,” Faramir said wryly, putting the mug down and helping himself to a piece of bread from the tray.

“Nah, nah,” Éomer said gesturing with his own mug. “Breakfast ale. Weak enough for babies.

Aragorn looked severely at Faramir. “I do, however, have a very serious issue to discuss with you about your behavior last night.” He included Éomer in his disapproval. “Both of you.”

Faramir swallowed the bread. “Yes, my lord. I am sorry…”

Aragorn cut him off. “You trusted Pippin to be able to tell the difference between the ales. You, lords of Gondor and Rohan, went to many of the taverns in the city and drank indiscriminately.”

Faramir and Éomer exchanged guilty glances.

Aragorn drove the lesson home, ‘And you didn’t think to invite me?”

 

 

*** Author's note: And many thanks to Marta for the original discussion that led to this idea *******

**Beta's comments** I very much like this piece — it made me laugh in several places, it has a nice shape and pacing to it, the dialogue is mostly convincing, and it has a really good punchline at the end. I think you do a very good job of capturing Aragorn in this piece: I very much see the Ranger-turned-King who wishes he could be an ordinary Ranger again sometimes. I also like Éomer here: someone who enjoys life, doesn't have particularly polished manners but does have a heart of gold. However, there are some issues I think you should consider:

1\. You seem undecided as to whether you want to go for a fairly modern style or a more archaic style (perhaps in keeping with Tolkien's own). You use some archaic words such as "wont" but more modern expressions such as "Wouldn't miss it". Given this is humorous piece, a modern style isn't out of place, but you should probably pick one or the other (or use the archaic words deliberately to add to the humour).

2\. I don't have a strong sense of where this is taking place (or even entirely when). When you introduce Éomer's first piece of dialogue, I am unsure for a moment whether this is a conversation taking place at dawn while Aragorn is "indulging in a private moment" or is something he is remembering from earlier. This may be because Éomer suddenly appears in the story without anything to set up his presence. (The phrase "indulging in a private moment" made me think Aragorn was alone.) Also, when Éomer looks around for a Faramir a couple of paragraphs later, I'm wondering where he thinks Faramir might be hiding and if he expects him to pop out like a jack-in-the-box. I don't think you need a great deal of description to set the scene but a little more sense of place would be nice.

3\. I said above that I liked your characterisations of Aragorn and Éomer. However, I'm a little unsure about Imrahil's characterisation in this piece. Why does he feel the need to report Faramir's "bad behaviour" (and the hobbits) to Aragorn? What is he expecting Aragorn to do about it? He comes across as rather pompous, especially when Aragorn, Éomer and Faramir laugh at him after he's gone. They also seem rather disrespectful of a character who, in the book, is represented as an embodiment of Gondorian virtues. I think it might make Imrahil more in character (without losing too much of the humour of Imrahil getting in a tizzy about Faramir having fun!) if you have him coming to Aragorn not to complain about Faramir but to express his concern that his nephew is behaving uncharacteristically (since Faramir rarely goes out and drinks) and is perhaps under too much stress. Has Aragorn noticed any signs of stress as well? Is there anything they can do? Aragorn could point out to Imrahil that they all have a chance to live their lives differently now the War is over—surely Faramir going out and having a good time is a positive sign? Aragorn can then reassure Imrahil that he will keep an eye on Faramir. When Faramir comes in, he could be touched by his uncle's concern—and I think you could then still wrap up with the same ending. Of course, it's very much your choice how you characterise and plot your story!

4\. Given this is a humour piece with a generally modern feel, there are a few places where I feel you become a little over-poetic, For example: "Dawn was only just blushing the sky a deep rosy red" and "His raven hair was windblown from standing on the battlements in the morning breeze, but his eyes were clear and sparkling." The latter comes close to parodying a lot of rather over-the-top Faramir stories (I mean, I'm a Faramir fan, but I'm afraid that had me giggling for the wrong reasons) — without the rest of the piece being a parody to make it clear that might have been your intent. I think you should either look at toning down some of these descriptions or make them more clearly comic

 

Update - a year after Gwynnyd wrote the story, she couldn't stand having it be 'unfinished' in the sense that she never addressed the issues Tanaqui talked about here, even though many of them had been deliberate.  The story was finally re-written as "Paying the Price", and accepted into the HASA archive.


	8. Corn! Blame it on the Corn...! Sort Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This article provides several examples of how authors and beta readers can work together.

If you're reading this article, you’re probably interested in finding out more about just what a beta is, and what it means to be one. Perhaps someone has told you that your stories, while good, could be made excellent if you found a beta. Or maybe you've seen someone acknowledge their beta in a story and want to find out what that person might have done for the author. For a more thorough treatment of this subject, read the companion article [Beta Reading at HASA](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=3694).

We thought you might also find it useful to see how a beta circle can develop. This chapter, written by HASA members Marta and Tanaqui, explains how their beta circle, which also involves Gywnnyd and Lady Aranel, came into being.

Firstly, what is a beta circle? You may already be familiar with the beta/author relationship, where one person will beta another person's work. Often (although not always) this relationship is reciprocal: author A will beta author B's work, and in turn author B will beta author A's work. A **beta circle** develops when more than two authors all provide reciprocal betas on each other's pieces.

The members of our beta circle all joined HA/HASA around the same time. Gwynnyd, Lady Aranel, and Tanaqui all joined within about a week in October 2003. Marta had joined a little earlier but only became really active around the same time. So we were all “new” members at much the same time.

It’s often the case that new members form beta relationship with other new members. This is probably because many longer-term members have already developed commitments at HASA. They may be involved behind the scenes helping to run the site, they may have established beta relationships formed when they first joined, or they may simply be so over-nuzgûlled that they barely have time to write all the stories they would like to and just don't have much time to spare to get involved with new members. Of course, some new members form beta partnerships or beta circles with established members. However, it is our experience that new members have many valuable gifts to offer each other. We treasure the friendships we have developed with our beta partners; and we believe these connections probably run deep because we were learning about HASA at the same time and could help each other make sense of the world we found ourselves in.

Yet it is not enough merely to be a new member of HA/HASA; you must make yourself a **visible** member as well. There are several ways you can do this. We share here those that worked for us and you can find more suggestions and examples in the [Beta Reading at HASA](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=3694) article.

First, get involved at HA and the HASA forums. Tanaqui and Marta first connected at Marta’s forum, where she was trying to discuss one of her longer stories, "The Lady of Gondor." By that time, Tanaqui had already responded to a request from Marta at HA for feedback on a poem, and she had also read and commented one of Marta’s shorter pieces (without being asked to). Likewise, Tanaqui asked at her forum for help with some archery material in her piece "Sufficient," and Gwynnyd volunteered.

When you post a story at HASA that you'd like to get feedback on, make sure that you link it to your forum and start a thread with specific concerns you have about the story. (If you are unsure how to create a forum or link it to your story, you can find tutorials on both topics by selecting "Forums" from the drop down menu under "Sections" at the top of every page and then clicking on the "tutorial" link at the top right hand side; feel free to contact the [Welcome Manager](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/welcome/contact.cfm) if you still have questions.) If you read a story and someone has linked to their forum, check out what sort of feedback they want and provide some if you feel you have something useful to say.

Don't forget to comment on other discussions you find interesting that are not strictly related to someone's stories. Lady Aranel, who first came to the fandom through the movies and was struggling to read the books, asked for advice on how to make the books easier to read. Tanaqui responded, and the two began exchanging private emails, both LotR-related and general chat. Lady Aranel asked Tanaqui to beta her piece "Awakenings" and soon managed to persuade Tanaqui to let her beta one of her pieces in return..

Gwynnyd, Marta and Tanaqui also connected further over agricultural discussions at HA. Marta was working on an idea for a Shire story (currently on the back burner) and wanted to know what crops might be harvested at different times of the year in the UK. Tanaqui, who lives in England, offered lots of helpful suggestions. She also commented on how, as a Brit, she always gets a bit jolted by the scene in the maize field in Jackson's FotR. To which Marta — who had not yet begun her stint as a HASA Challenges Manager but had already exhibited the necessary skills of opportunistic nuzgûl flinging — replied with the suggestion that Tanaqui should write a story for the [Movie Challenge](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/challenge/challenge_detail.cfm?NGID=135).

When the nuzgûl finally bit a few days later, Tanaqui realised she would need some help writing this piece as she had never been inside a maize field. She posted a request to HA, and many people replied — including both Gwynnyd and Marta onlist, and Lady Aranel by private email. Gwynnyd demonstrated her phenomenal research skills — which our group values highly — from the start by digging out lots of useful web links.

Speaking of Challenges...

… if you are active at HA and HASA, trying all the things suggested in the [Beta Reading at HASA](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=3694) article, and **still** not finding a beta reader, you might try participating in a challenge. It's a great way to meet other writers. Tanaqui intended her story "Sufficient" to be humorous but, as Faramir stories have a tendency to do, it became rather angsty. She proposed the ["Don't Worry, Be Happy"](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/challenge/challenge_detail.cfm?NGID=129) (aka, "Happy Faramir") challenge to encourage stories featuring Faramir where the Captain of Ithilien experiences no angst.

Gwynnyd asked Tanaqui, as the challenge originator, to provide beta comments in private (by e-mail) on her entry, "Bare Feet and Beer." Marta also requested beta comments on her entry but made a classic new member mistake: not realizing that she could ask for feedback (from Tanaqui or another member) in private before posting in the beta archive at HASA. This forced Tanaqui (and the many other HASA members who kindly commented) to provide comments in public through Marta’s forums on the earliest and rawest drafts. Tanaqui also flung a most vicious nuzgûl for a sequel in the process. Marta agreed to write the sequel, but only if Tanaqui would beta it.

Meanwhile, Lady Aranel had made a request at the [I Need a Beta](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/resources/messages.cfm?confId=4&forumId=2&messageId=612) forum for someone to provide a grammar beta on other pieces (since Tanaqui normally does not do pure grammar betas). Marta responded. Lady Aranel knew Tanaqui and Marta worked together, so she asked Marta to beta a piece she was working on at the time for Tanaqui. Around the same time Gwynnyd started providing feedback for Marta’s piece "Lady of Gondor."

So we were all linked up with each other in some way (with varying degrees of reciprocity) and the e-mails were flying thick and fast — and it was getting rather confusing to keep up with it all. At the end of January 2004, Lady Aranel had a flash of inspiration and set up a Yahoo! group through which we could share WIPs and provide feedback. Our beta circle was officially launched.

Because this style of beta-ing seemed to work so well, Tanaqui asked for a new feature that would make detailed feedback easier to manage on the HASA site. And so [ Workshop](http://www.henneth-annun.net/members/workshop/index.cfm) was born.

Notice the dates when Tanaqui's beta circle was becoming established. Gwynnyd, Lady Aranel, and Tanaqui all joined HA/HASA in October 2003; the Yahoo group was not set up until the end of January 2004. That's nearly four months we spent getting to know each other. The time was well spent, of course: it allowed us to connect as individuals as well as writers. Those personal friendships are a major reason why our group works so well. But it did take time.

Yes, Gwynnyd, Lady Aranel, Marta and Tanaqui were lucky that a group of four compatible (and slightly mad) women were all looking for beta partners at the same time. But HASA is large enough that three or four slightly mad people are **always** looking for a beta. Remember, around fifteen new members join HASA every week — an average of one or two a day — and sometimes it’s more. If you aren't compatible with any of the members currently looking for beta partners, hang around a week and there'll be new members for you to try and hook up with.

The point is: we made this luck for ourselves by putting ourselves in positions to meet each other. Get involved. Post at HA and at the HASA forums. Join an existing site or open workshop or create your own. Ask for a beta, and offer your services to other authors. And above all else, enter a challenge! (Sorry, Marta insisted we put that in — she’s a tad biased on that last one. But challenges are a great way to meet other members.)

So the moral of our story: enter the Movie Challenge, and you too can organise your own beta circle. :-)

On a more serious note, we would all agree that our beta circle has been a truly amazing experience, and that we have all learnt a tremendous amount from each other. We also have the pleasure of feeling that when any one of us gets praise for a story, it feels like praise for the rest of us — while we have all been nearly as blessed on a personal level as we have creatively.

Happy hunting, and may you all "make your luck" and find a beta circle as rewarding as ours.


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